


Dragon Age Prompts

by Silent_of_Spirit



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Everyone is here folks, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, Specific tags in the beginning of each chapter maybe, oh my
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-16 02:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 32,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9269339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_of_Spirit/pseuds/Silent_of_Spirit
Summary: Just all of my prompts gathered from Tumblr and thrown here for convenience. Usually one-shots, but some of them tie into others. Those will be labeled with the chapter(s) they tie to.Smut will be marked with *Drunk writing will be labeled DWC.You can find the characters in each chapter summary. Feel free to skip if it's not your cup of tea.I hope you enjoy <3





	1. DWC: Hungry

**Author's Note:**

> Sera and Dagna are late for lunch. Sera is not enthused.

Sera sagged on the railing in the Undercroft dramatically, an anguished groan echoing over the cavernous space.

 

“I'm wastin', Widdle. Wastin'.”

 

Dagna hummed thoughtfully for a moment, briefly tightening a screw in the current project on the table before her.

 

“You're not though. Did you know our bodies can actually last without food for up to a week before we finally start to deteriorate? Absolutely fascinating. And unless I dreamed you eating that entire plate of cookies we made last night, I think you're just fine.” She giggled animatedly, a pleased grin pulling at her lips at Sera's answering huff.

 

“Yeah, well, feels like a week, alright? You said lunch two hours ago.” Sera pushed herself up from the railing and bounced down the stairs. “What are you workin' on anyways? Must be important for you to leave me alone and hungry up here.” Dagna giggled again; she could practically hear the pout in Sera's voice. Sera drew up behind her, resting her chin on the top of Dagna's messy bun.

 

“You already made Inky an arm!” She said indignantly, “We're missing out on food, Widdle. Food.”

 

Dagna huffed good-naturedly, brushing some wispy strands of hair from her eyes. “Yes, I made her one, but this is different.”

 

“Looks the same to me.”

 

“The other one I made her has very little control. She can't move it well, or use it effectively in a battle situation if she chose.” She moved the fingers on the prosthetic experimentally, testing the give. “I'm trying a new way to enchant this one, so she can use it as if it was a regular arm again, even shoot her bow. She won't be able to feel things, of course, but she should be able to have full use of it again... theoretically.” She began to launch into an enthusiastic explanation of how she was trying to accomplish it, smiling and excited.

 

Sera couldn't take her eyes off of those dimples, and how her freckles seemed to dance on her nose when she was excited. Shortly enough, her stomach reminded her of what she was supposed to be doing, and at its grumbling insistence she silenced Dagna's animated chatter with a kiss. She made a little noise of surprise before returning it eagerly, blushing slightly when Sera pulled away.

 

“Tha's all very interesting, Widdle, but how about you tell me over lunch. Y'know, that lunch we were supposed to eat two hours ago.”

 

Dagna glanced at her from the corner of her eyes, wrinkling her nose. “Can I brainstorm with you while we eat, then?” She offered, and Sera laughed.

 

“Yes, Widdle. I frickin' love the stories of how you make all this fancy shite work, but I can't hear you over this angry monster in my belly.” Sera draped an arm over Dagna's shoulder, steering her toward the door to the great hall and the promise of food.

 

“Okay, but one more thing!” Dagna squeaked and ducked under Sera's arm, ignoring the groan of protest. “I just have to calibrate this one rune before I forget! If I don't then the others may not...” She squealed as she was unceremoniously hauled up into Sera's arms.

 

“That's it, Widdle. You've been kidnapped. You can explain all the fancy shite on the way.” Dagna's stomach rumbled, echoing through the Undercroft and Sera crowed her victory as they both dissolved into a fit of laughter.

 


	2. DWC: Chess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Venalya have a chess match with a little surprise.

“You shouldn't cheat, you know. I notice.” Cullen said, watching his wife across the chessboard with a raised brow and that damnable smirk he always had when he was celebrating a smug victory.

 

“Simply testing your observational skills, vhenan.” Venalya replied smoothly, returning his gaze and raising a brow of her own in challenge. Her hand rested on her belly, upon the swell that was only barely present, unnoticeable had she not been looking for it in the aftermath of the nausea that had plagued her the last few weeks.

 

“Cheaters never win, dear.” He stated simply as he moved her pieces back to where they should be. She grinned and rolled her eyes, lounging back in her chair, drumming her fingers across her stomach thoughtfully as she watched him.

 

“That's assuming I can even beat you when I haven't been cheating, which I can't.” She said flippantly, heart stuttering at the rakish smile he shot at her from his seat.

 

“That is because I simply cannot be bested, unless I choose to be.”

 

She immediately burst into hysterical laughter, fanned further by his sudden look of complete bewilderment. She couldn't hold back the snort that bubbled forth in the midst of it, her head thrown back and body shaking as she clutched her sides. He smiled, unbidden, despite the mild offense he took to her response.

 

“And what on earth could possibly be so funny?” He queried, attempting in vain to fight his own grin. She roared louder in response, her chair rocking perilously, sending him quickly from his own to right it before she toppled into the garden. “Maker's breath.” He muttered, looking down at her in confusion. She was still laughing uproariously, tears now streaking her cheeks.

 

“Certainly never bested by an ornery horse.” She managed between laughs, “Nor an overeager recruit bashing you in the nose?” She took a shuddering breath, making an effort to compose herself that dissolved at the look on his face as she fell into hysterics again. “What about that mud that bested you in the middle of your address to the troops?” She laughed even harder at that one. “Slipped right on your a-a-a-ahahahahaha!”

 

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, a blush creeping into his cheeks. “That wasn't what I- ah.”

 

He was interrupted by more laughter, a face buried in his tunic as she tried to regain control. “When Josephine bested you at Wicked Grace!” She squealed, “The look on your- ahaha- your face!” She was clutching at him now, her slight frame shaking with the continued fit, her wild hair falling in her face. “When I bested you in many things? When your child will in the future!” Her face was buried in his tunic again as she once more tried to unsuccessfully reign in the laughter.

 

“I was talking about chess.” He started to say quietly, the flush high on his cheekbones now as she called forth his previous embarrassments. He stopped short, eyes widening as her last remark registered in his mind. He sank to his knees before her, pushing her back by her shoulders and brushing the dark hair from her face so he could see her. “W-what did you say?” He very nearly whispered, searching her eyes.

 

Her laughter had finally subsided into helpless giggles as she looked at him, biting her lip in that coy way she knew he adored. “I said, when your child bests you in the future, vhenan.” She said softly, shyly, leaning her forehead against his as her giggles finally subsided. She brought a hand down to rest on her belly, watching his gaze follow the action, his eyes widening even more as he looked from her violet eyes to where her hand lay, and then back again.

 

“Ours?” He asked in awe, sucking in a sharp breath at her nod of affirmation, a joyous smile gracing her lips. He brought down a hand to cover hers, shock and joy rendering him speechless. He could feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, and he had to close them against the sudden surge of emotion.

 

“Cullen?” He heard her say quietly, and he looked back to her, face breaking into a grin so wide he was sure his face would split apart. He let out a loud bark of laughter, rising quickly and crushing her to him in a tight embrace, delighting in her surprised squeal as he spun her once before letting her feet touch the ground again.

 

“So you don't mind being bested after all?” She chuckled softly, eyes sparkling with happiness and mischief.

 

“How could I want anything more?” He asked, before dipping his head and capturing her lips in a searing kiss, chess game and embarrassments long forgotten.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You may find me at my [tumblr](http://silent-of-spirit.tumblr.com/), where you can also prompt me or strike up a friendly chat :) I love talking to people, don't be shy <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! More prompts always to come.


	3. DWC: Picnic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josephine and Neirah finally get a chance to relax.

“Where are you taking me?” Neirah grinned at the hint of exasperation lacing Josephine's tone, glancing back at the blindfolded woman. “I have a lot of work to do.” She said with a huff, but let herself be led. Neirah hummed thoughtfully, guiding her gently up the path. “Neirah.” Josephine finally said with a huff, planting her feet in the dirt.

 

“You need a break.” The qunari said simply, tugging on Josephine's hand and turning when there was a tug of resistance. She smirked at the frown on Josephine's pretty face, trailing a finger down her cheekbone. “Shall I carry you then, kadan?” She asked softly, and she could feel the heat in the Antivan's cheeks before it manifested in a brilliant scarlet. Neirah chuckled in amusement, taking her hand again and pulling her up the rest of the hill.

 

“I just don't see the point of this... this... gallivanting when I have a tower of paperwork to-” Neirah rolled her eyes skyward, pulling Josephine gently along as she listened to her spluttered excuses as to why she couldn't spare even an hour from her duties.

 

“Josie.” Neirah said softly when they came to a stop at the crest of the hill. Josephine continued listing off the countless reasons why this was such a bad idea. “Josie.” She said again, drawing up behind her and running her hands up the smaller woman's arms. “Kadan.” She purred in Josephine's ear, nuzzling the shell of it until she trailed off into a contented hum. Neirah smiled and nipped at the ear softly, delighting in the little gasp she was rewarded with. She raised herself back up, untying the blindfold and carefully extricating it from Josephine's hair.

 

“Oh.” She breathed once the scrap of fabric was removed, staring ahead in awe. She stood in shock as she looked at the little blanket on the grass, covered with a variety of fruits and cheeses on little plates and a bottle of her favorite Antivan wine. Just beyond, the view of the valley below was absolutely breathtaking. “Oh.” She said again, blushing profusely as she tried to hide her pleased smile.

 

“You work too hard, kadan. Let me pamper you from time to time.” Came Neirah's sultry voice from beside her ear, and Josephine leaned gratefull back into her embrace.

 

“I suppose I could use a small break.” She acquiesced. “A small one, mind.” There was an amused huff that ruffled her hair before she felt a gentle push toward the blanket. She obeyed, tossing a glance over her shoulder.

 

“Please get comfortable, Lady Montilyet.” Neirah gestured with an exaggerated bow, and Josephine stifled a giggle, fluffing her petticoats as she lowered herself to the blanket. Neirah sat close behind her, allowing Josie to lean back into her warmth. She closed her eyes and smiled, inhaling the familiar scent of pine and embrium that always seemed to accompany Neirah. The qunari wrapped her arms around the small woman, nuzzling into her hair.

 

“I doubt you've eaten today, Josie. Please indulge me?” Neirah asked softly as she lifted a small cube of cheese to Josephine's lips. She ate it with a hum of contentment, fingers idly playing with the tidy plait that had fallen over her shoulder, tugging it slightly and giggling at the small huff it evoked. There was a grape pressed to her lips now in response and she ate it, chasing after the fingers that too quickly withdrew. The stem of a wineglass was pressed into her fingers and she accepted it, lifting it to her lips and taking a none too delicate drink. “Thirsty?” Came the snort of disbelief from above her and she pressed her lips together.

 

“It has been a... trying week, Lady Adaar.” She said gently, mulling the taste of the wine, looking anywhere but up. “Perhaps a break was a good thought, in light of such.” Neirah said nothing, but Josephine knew she was smiling in victory.

 

“It is not often you admit defeat. Should I be honored?” The qunari sounded bemused, and Josephine rolled her eyes, taking another drink from her glass. “I'll take that as a yes, then.” Neirah said as she tipped the bottle into the now half-empty goblet, filling it anew. She offered more morsels of food, all of which Josephine ate with gusto, and they sat and chatted quietly well into the afternoon until the sun began to set. Josephine was full of laughter and smiles, relaxing into her lover in a way she hadn't been able to in weeks. Neirah stroked her hair, eating the last bite of cheese.

 

“Neirah.” Josephine said softly. The larger woman adjusted behind her, pulling her plait out of the way so she could nuzzle into Josie's fragrant hair. “Thank you.” She finally said after a pregnant pause, and Neirah smiled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You may find me at my [tumblr](http://silent-of-spirit.tumblr.com/), where you can also prompt me or strike up a friendly chat :) I love talking to people, don't be shy <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! More prompts always to come.


	4. DWC: Drunk Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris finally corners Hawke. He had wanted this for a long time.

Her laugh was delightful. Every time he heard it, his soul was set aflame, the melodic sound lighting the darkness in him like sunshine. Oh, he loved that laugh.

 

“And then, he shook its little foot! Or, hand.. or paw? Whatever a blasted nug foot is called.” Varric was waving his hands wildly as he regaled them with yet another unbelievable tale, this time about one of the inebriated nobles of Hightown. “Shook its little foot and yelled at the barkeep for ignoring his 'friend'.” There it was again, the laugh. He couldn't help but smile at it, watching her over the rim of his wineglass. Her head was thrown back as she clutched her stomach, so enthralled with Varric's tales and tipsy with drink that her usual reservations were gone. Her cheeks were pink, making every freckle stand out with clarity, and they almost looked to be dancing, as filled with merriment as she was.

 

“And then?” She asked in her sweet, lilting voice, biting her lip in a way that drove him mad. His gaze darted to the crackling hearth, unable to escape the picture of her lips in his mind, driving him to distraction. He could see the way it dragged through her teeth, or the way they would part when she was surprised, tongue darting out to wet them when she was nervous, how she pressed them into a thin line when thinking, how the corners would pull up ever so slightly when she was smug.

 

He remembered how they looked when she told him how she felt, chewing on them while she awaited his response, and how they looked curved into a beautiful smile, the way they formed the words 'I'll wait.' He had thought of little else. His thoughts were consumed by her. Her sparkling laugh drew him from his reveries, and he looked back to her to find her eyes already upon him, alight with amusement andimpossibly blue. She glanced away quickly with a smile when he looked upon her, and she took another sip from her glass as she looked over to Isabela, telling them a story about her crew.

 

Fenris was enraptured. He could not wrench his eyes away from Hawke no matter how he tried. She was biting her lip again, and he could see her gaze flicker in his direction. His did not falter for a moment, studying her features with steady determination as he sipped at his wine. He could see the flush beginning to creep up her neck the longer he watched, and he hoped with some small satisfaction that it was because of his attentions.

 

“Goodness, I need a little air.” She said breathlessly, fanning her face as she set her glass down on a nearby table. “It's quite warm in here, isn't it?” She smiled brilliantly at her companions, all of whom were already engaged in another tale. She excused herself and his eyes followed her through the door to her garden. He watched the door for a few minutes more before depositing his own glass on the table beside him and rising from the couch. He walked to the door without a word, feeling the knowing gaze on his back as he stepped through into the cold air.

 

“Oh, maybe we should all go get some air!” Merrill said happily. Isabela draped an arm over her shoulders, eyes still on the now shut door.

 

“Nah, kitten. I think we're just fine in here.” She said with a smirk.

 

Creators, but it was _cold_. He could see little puffs of his breath in the air as he looked for her in the garden. “Hawke?” He called out, following the quiet giggle from one of the more overgrown corners. He raised a brow, searching the shadows of the darkened garden for her, small smirk on his lips. “Hawke?” He called again, quieter this time, and he followed the answering giggle to the darkened portion by the wall. He saw her as he drew closer, cloaked in the shadows with a grin on her face. “Hawke.” He said softly, eyes following her as she retreated to the wall behind her, glancing back in surprise when she backed against it. Her gaze flitted back to his approaching form, tall and formidable, smile still present on her lips.

 

“I-it's still quite warm.” She said breathlessly, eyes going wide when he stepped right in front of her. She could feel his warmth through the narrow space between them, and she wanted to grab his armor and pull him closer, but she instead rubbed her fingers on the rough brick behind her as she craned her neck to look up.

 

She was biting her lip again. His gaze raked over her face to settle there, “Marian.” He said softly as he raised his hand to her face, freeing her lip with his thumb. He let it linger there, feeling the warm moisture of her quick breaths.

 

“Fenris.” She managed to whisper, and his gaze snapped to hers. Her eyes were glittering darkly in the shadowed corner, and he began to step away before she turned her head and took the tip of his thumb into her pretty mouth, suckling obscenely for a moment as she tasted him. He was sure his heart would pound out of his chest, heat flooding his face and ears as he watched with rapt fascination. She turned her face back to him, eyes fixed firmly on his lips, and she lifted her chin in invitation.

 

He accepted.

 

He descended upon her like a man starving, and perhaps he was as he captured her lips and devoured her. She made a small sound of pleasure and pulled him closer, bodies flush as he kissed her. She clung to him desperately as his hand snaked into the hair at the nape of her neck, tugging gently. Her lips parted in a gasp and he took advantage of the opening, delving between them and tasting her entire. She was honeyed and sweet, tasting of wine and a nectar that was so irrevocably _Hawke_. He was consumed, the fire that she had wakened blazing within him until he was sure he would burst into flames. He kissed her harder, pushing her against the wall as his free hand clutched at her hip. She wrapped her legs around him, effectively caged between his body and the unyielding brick behind her. He broke the kiss, planting smaller ones along her jaw until he reached her ear, and he nipped at it softly.

 

“Fenris.” She breathed, and it was music to his ears.

 

“Hey, Hawke, you out there?” Varric's voice came from the doorway, and Fenris froze, breathing heavily. “It's your turn for a story!” Marian's eyes met his, and she smiled sheepishly, flushed and panting as he was.

 

“Of course, Varric! I'll be right there. I just needed some air.” The door closed and Fenris reluctantly helped her to right herself, stepping away when her feet were back on the ground. He felt a gentle hand on his cheek, and he looked down, jolting slightly in surprise when his lips met hers again. This kiss was soft and sweet, her touch tender when she finally pulled away, looking up at him as she bit her lip. She broke out into a wide smile before inclining her head slightly.

 

“Fenris.” She said with a chuckle, turning to go back inside.

 

“Marian.” He said reverently just as the door clicked shut.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You may find me at my [tumblr](http://silent-of-spirit.tumblr.com/), where you can also prompt me or strike up a friendly chat :) I love talking to people, don't be shy <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! More prompts always to come.


	5. DWC: Sparring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Mahariel work off some steam.

She grunted as she was once again pushed into the dirt, clenching her jaw against the bubbling irritation. Her muscles were starting to ache in earnest, and she was fairly certain she was covered in bruises from ear to toe. She huffed as Alistair's smug face came into view, offering a hand down to her. She swatted it away, rising on her own with a shaky groan. She heard him sigh softly and run a hand through his sweat soaked hair.

 

“That should be plenty for today, I think.” He said as he bent to retrieve the practice sword from the dirt. She eyed him warily, lips pressed thin in irritation.

 

“Well, of course you have an unfair advantage when you've been trained with a sword and shield since adolescence.” She muttered under her breath, rubbing at her eyes with the heels of her hands. He paused and turned back to her slightly, brows raised.

 

“Oh, I didn't realize the darkspawn were going to play _fair_. How silly of me.” He said flippantly, earning a heated glare.

 

“You're a sassy shit.”

 

“Right, because I've never heard that one before.” He tossed back. “I just thought the Dalish had a little more fight in them than what you've shown.”

 

He was baiting her, she realized. He was baiting her, and damn him, it was working. She snarled, ripping her discarded weapon and shield from the dirt before spinning to face him. He had a brow cocked, regarding her with quiet curiosity. She gave him a pointed look, and the corner of his mouth quirked in amusement as he drew his weapon and took his stance. She charged at him, and their shields met with a clash that rattled her arm and made her shoulder ache. She gritted her teeth and pushed against him, bringing up her weapon which was easily deflected. She met his eyes over their shields.\

 

“You know, you're strikingly pretty when angry.” He smirked as she narrowed her eyes further, refusing to rise to his bait. She shoved at his shield hard, sending him a step back and allowing her enough space to back away, shield raised and sword swinging in lazy circles at her side. They circled each other for a time, both wary and watching the other's movements closely. She noticed him misstep, and she lunged, sword aimed at the spot he'd left open. Her thrust was met with the dull clang of metal on hard wood, and he pressed his shield back against her sword arm harshly, the angle causing her to lose her grip on the weapon, sedning it tumbling to the dirt. He pressed further, and she stepped back, and back again, glancing around for an out.

 

Her eyes met his again, and the dam of her irritation broke at the smug victory she saw there. She released her shield and dropped into the dirt, taking satisfaction in the way his face contorted into confusion just before she swept his legs from under him, sending him sprawling backwards to the ground. He landed with a dull thud, a pained gasp wrenched from his throat. She was atop him in an instant, knees planted firmly on either side of his hips as she drew a dagger from her boot. He felt the point of it at the hollow of his throat, eyes wide as he looked at her in shock. She leaned down, her nose nearly brushing his, and he could feel the tickle of her hair on his cheek.

 

“That was a dirty trick.” He whispered, swallowing thickly and grimacing at the point of the knife. Her eyes sparkled brightly with mischief, a predatory grin pulling at her mouth. He was suddenly all too aware of their proximity, the shift of her hips above his, the closeness of her face and how if he could just lift his head he would be able to-

 

“Oh,” She said, voice heavy with sarcasm before she slid off of him and to her feet. “I didn't realize the darkspawn were going to play _fair_.” She quirked a brow at him and turned away, leaving him in the dirt as she trekked back to camp.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You may find me at my [tumblr](http://silent-of-spirit.tumblr.com/), where you can also prompt me or strike up a friendly chat :) I love talking to people, don't be shy <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! More prompts always to come.


	6. Strikhedonia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liahra works too hard. Dorian has to remind her that it is okay to take a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strikhedonia: The pleasure of being able to say "To hell with it!"

Dorian's eyebrows shot into his hairline at the sound of Liahra's anguished groan, loud enough to register through her closed door at the base of the stairs. He cracked it open and ascended carefully, chuckling despite himself at the sight of the Inquisitor draped over a stack of paperwork on her desk, hair in disarray as though she had been pulling at it.

 

“There is nothing funny about this, Dorian.” She mumbled before raising her head to look at him bleary-eyed.

 

“What ever is the matter, love?” He asked with a snicker, crossing the room as she made an irritated huff and gestured vaguely at the stack of papers.

 

“Requisitions, troop movements, letters from nobles...” She picked up sheets seemingly at random as she spoke. “Diplomatic issues, important scout reports from Leliana, requests for fittings from Josephine... Every one needing to be read and responded to by the end of the week before we leave for the Storm Coast to meet Bull's contact.” She gave him a look filled with despair as she gestured again at the sheer volume. “Every. One.”

 

Dorian smiled and rubbed a smudge of ink from her jaw with his thumb, chuckling as she wrinkled her nose in distaste, swiping at her face in an effort to remove any other blotches that had escaped her notice. “To the void with it, woman. Take a break.” The look of utter horror on her face nearly sent him to his knees with laughter.

 

“A-are you mad?” She said, words filled with disbelief. She gestured once again at the paperwork with a small, distressed sound. “I don't have _time_ for a break.”

 

“All the more reason why you need one.” He replied flippantly, beginning to pull out her chair while she stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. “You work too hard. Now, repeat after me. To the void with it!” She blinked, seeming to attempt to process if this was in her imagination or if it was, in fact, real.

 

“Dorian-”

 

“Ah ah ah.” Dorian clicked his tongue at her, shushing her with a finger to her lips. She scrunched her eyebrows. He took a hold of her shoulders and lowered his face to her level so he could look her in the eyes. “Say it.” He could see her mental struggle, her eyes glancing between his and the alarming amount of paperwork on her desk.

 

“T-to the void with it.” She finally mumbled, eyes flitting down to her fists clenched in her lap.

 

“I'm sorry? What was that?” Dorian asked with a grin as he straightened. She fixed him with a scathing glare.

 

“To the void with it.” She said a little louder, a smile creeping onto her face.

 

“Once more, with conviction!”

 

“To the void with it!” She yelled, slamming her palm on the edge of her desk as she leaped to her feet. She let her breath out in a whoosh of air, meeting Dorian's smile with a brilliant one of her own.

 

“Freeing isn't it?” He asked smugly, grinning as she snorted and rolled her eyes.

 

“I suppose.” She conceded, her gaze inadvertently drawn back to her desk for a moment. Dorian took up her arm in one swift motion, pulling her toward the stairs.

 

“Oh no you don't. Don't think about it.” He said firmly, ignoring her little huff. “There is a lovely Tevinter vintage in my room, and then perhaps we can take it down to the practice fields to watch The Bull train with his Chargers, hmm?” He patted her hand fondly. “Goodness knows watching that man can clear any thoughts other than-”

 

“Creators, Dorian!” She huffed, swatting his arm. He grinned in victory at the pink now flushing her cheeks.

 

“Maybe the drink will give you enough courage to finally make a move, my sweet.” She placed her face in her free hand, a groan escaping her parted fingers.

 

“To the void with you!”

 

Dorian laughed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You may find me at my [tumblr](http://silent-of-spirit.tumblr.com/), where you can also prompt me or strike up a friendly chat :) I love talking to people, don't be shy <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! More prompts always to come.


	7. Basorexia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull and Liahra have a moment. Maybe more than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basorexia: An overwhelming desire to kiss.

“Could this place _get_ any more miserable?” Dorian grumbled as he struggled to pitch his tent against the harsh wind of the Western Approach. It was brutal, pulling at their clothes and hair and blowing gritty sand so that they were unable to escape it, still finding it in the crevasses of their clothes and skin hours after hiding in the relative safety of their tents. The sun was harsh and unforgiving during the day, scorching their skin and leaving them desperate for shade, while the nights were so cold that they scarcely had enough blankets.

 

“We should all just share a tent at this rate.” Liahra said irritably, fighting to keep her hair out of her face where it escaped from her tie in the wind. “Less fuss and more warmth.”

 

“Dorian and I stay plenty warm.” Westley sauntered over from where he was attempting to start a fire, winking saucily at the mage who cleared his throat and busied himself with the tent again, a noticeable flush high on his cheeks.

 

“Well good for you.” She huffed grumpily, swiping the hair from her face again as she tried to focus on her own tent. Bull's was already pitched, of course, and he had gone off to fetch water some time ago. “Everything is just so _easy_ for him. Never mind the sand and the varghests and the fucking _heat_.” She muttered under her breath. “Ritual couldn't take place in the _forest_ , no. Had to be in the middle of the miserable fu- _Fenedhis!_ ” She hissed as the wind whipped the rope out of her grasp, sending it flying into her face where it snapped against her cheek.

 

Westley and Dorian looked up in surprise at her outburst, exchanging a look as she struggled to contain the offending rope. Her cheek stung horribly, more with the wind throwing the grating sand against it, and she made a sound of frustration in the back of her throat that sounded suspiciously like a growl. Westley stood up and approached cautiously.

 

“Liah-”

 

“I'm fine!” She snapped, grabbing at the ornery rope and ignoring the way his eyebrows shot up. Her hands were gently but firmly pushed to the side then, replaced by much larger gray ones as they secured the rope with ease and fixed her tent for her. Her eyes snapped up to Bull's face, and she scowled at the amusement she saw present there. His brow knit together for a moment as he took her chin, tilting her head to the side to look at her cheek where the rope had bitten.

 

“Tsk. Dorian, can you take care of this? I'll finish your tent.” He called over the cacophony of the wind whipping against the canvas of their tents. Dorian was all too happy to oblige, abandoning his struggle to look for himself. Dorian took Bull's place, and she watched him go with a small degree of disappointment while Dorian tutted disapprovingly as he probed her face.

 

“I'm out of lyrium potions, so I will be useless tonight, but I can clean it and put an elfroot paste on it and that should hopefully do until I rest and regain some energy.” He said thoughtfully, rising and walking over to the jugs of water Bull had brought back. Her gaze wandered over to him to find his already upon her, smirking over the top of Westley and Dorian's tent. She swallowed and glanced away, grateful that she could blame her flush on the biting wind.

 

She let Dorian tend to her quietly, not moving even when he had to dig the grit out of the new wound. The wind was dying as the sun disappeared behind the craggy cliffs, and the mood was melancholy all around as Westley and Bull cooked and chatted quietly over the fire. She and Dorian joined them after he deemed her cut adequately seen to.

 

“I'll take first watch.” Dorian piped up after they had eaten, seemingly unable to take the silence any longer. The Approach was a place that certainly took everything from you, and they all seemed to agree without saying a word.

 

“Second.” Liahra said quietly over her empty bowl.

 

“I'll take last.” Westley muttered. “I like getting up early, anyway.”

 

“Right, well third's my favorite so that worked out.” Bull shrugged, seemingly the only one unperturbed by this place. Liahra sighed and rose, holding her hand out for the empty bowls. Westley handed his over before retreating into his tent, Dorian doing the same and following Westley, though just to retrieve a blanket. Bull watched her approach, hand catching her wrist after she took his bowl, tugging gently so she would look at him. He let out a careful breath the moment she settled her stunning eyes on his one. “You okay, boss?” He asked quietly, the question rumbling through his chest.

 

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. “I'm fine, Bull.” She said easily, but he saw right through the lie and she knew it. He always did. He looked at her steadily, waiting for her to tell the truth, she knew, and she swallowed thickly at the fluttering in her chest that his unfaltering gaze prompted. She could feel his grip on her wrist keenly, though it was gentle, and she had to force her eyes away as they flicked to his lips. She saw the corner of his mouth turn up, and she fought against the urge to look, breath hitching as his thumb grazed over the pulse point in her wrist.

 

“ _Fasta vass_.” Dorian swore as he emerged from the tent, clutching the thick blanket around his shoulders. Bull released her wrist and she struggled to gather her thoughts as she adjusted the bowls in her arms, wandering over to the supply of water to clean them. “How is it already so cold? I swear it was scathingly hot not thirty minutes ago.”

 

“What was it Maevaris said in that letter?” Liahra mused, busying herself with the cleaning. “Ah, yes. _Do watch over Dorian. He is such a hothouse orchid I fear he'll wilt in that climate._ ” Dorian scoffed and she couldn't help but smile.

 

“Yes, well it's not my fault that you southerners have such ghastly weather.” he grumped, pulling the blanket more tightly around himself as he sat as near to the fire as he could without bursting into flames himself. Bull chuckled softly, and she glanced in his direction as she put the bowls away, finding him watching her again. She flushed and looked hastily away, cursing herself for her silly behavior.

 

“Well I should get some rest if I'm to be second watch.” She said suddenly, making for her tent.

 

“Yep, me too. Try not to _wilt_ 'vint.” Bull teased, laughing at the burning glare Dorian shot his way. Liahra settled into her bedroll, listening distractedly as Bull did the same next door, the metallic clanging of him removing his brace sending a spike of pity through her. His leg had to be aching after today. She shuffled beneath her blanket.

 

“I can practically _hear_ you thinking, Boss. Go to sleep.” She heard his voice rumble quietly through the canvas and she blanched. Damn that man. She didn't realize that she had nodded off until Dorian was gently shaking her awake, somehow managing to keep his blanket wrapped soundly around himself. She rubbed her eyes sleepily, but relieved him, dragging her own blanket out to sit beside the fire as he vanished into his tent. She heard Westley's sleepy mumbling before he was shushed by Dorian and the night faded into silence again save for the crackling of the fire.

 

With the wind gone and the lack of blowing sand, she could see for miles, the only movement an occasional dark speck in the distance, likely a hyena or varghest. It was so _quiet_ out here, the desert devoid of the usual sounds of life, and it was vaguely unsettling. She shook her head to clear the uneasiness, letting her gaze instead wander to the stars above, startlingly clear and stunning without trees or parapets to hinder the view. She was struck breathless for a moment as she looked, heart aching in the familiar way it always did when she gazed upon the heavens. She busied herself with finding the constellations she knew, completely unaware of the passing time.

 

“Some watch woman you are.” She started at the sound of Bull's thoroughly amused voice, eyes wide as she looked over her shoulder. He was standing with his arms crossed, that damnable smirk of his present on his face and she opened her mouth to explain before promptly shutting it again. His low chuckle sent chills up her spine.

 

“Is it your watch already?” She asked, voice small.

 

“Sure is.”

 

“Oops.” She said softly, grinning at his answering laugh. “For the record, if we had been in any real danger I would have noticed.”

 

“You sure about that?” He lowered himself next to her with a grunt, grabbing a log from beside him and tossing it onto the dying fire, sending a shower of sparks flying into the air and illuminating them for a moment. She let her eyes roam his face freely while his gaze was focused on the fire, taking in the scars he wore with pride, though she couldn't help but feel a sense of sadness when looking upon them. He had been through so much, this man who protected everyone and never asked for anything in return. He bore his hurts and stresses alone, yet insisted upon helping with hers. As if on cue, he turned to catch her gaze, brow knitting together for a moment as he looked back, reaching up to take her chin in a gentle hand.

 

He turned her cheek to the firelight, examining the shallow cut and the dried paste cracking over it. Her gaze flitted to the ground beneath them, her cheeks flushing under his scrutiny and her heart suddenly beating too fast. His thumb grazed her cheek, gently brushing away some of the dried flakes of the elfroot and prompting a sharp intake of breath from the elf. She looked up to find his gaze moved from her wound to her eyes, and she fought the urge to look away, instead worrying her lip between her teeth. His eye moved down at the action, and he seemed fascinated for a moment as she pulled at her lip. His thumb stroked down her face, tugging gently to free it. She breathed shakily, shivering as he dragged his thumb across her bottom lip, an inscrutable look in his eye.

 

“Are you cold?” His voice startled her for a moment, low and dark, and her heart hammered wildly in response to the tone. Her gaze flitted between his mouth and his eye, the look there causing her to shiver again.

 

“N-no.” She exhaled against his skin, eliciting a pleased sound from somewhere deep in his chest. _Creators_ , that look was making her weak... she wondered suddenly what it would be like to kiss him... to close the distance and press her lips against his, full and inviting. Would he kiss her back? Would he be gentle, like his hands and his voice, tender and kind after the stresses of each day? Or would he be brutal, devouring her with the passion he had in battle, seemingly never able to quench his thirst and eager for more?

 

He was losing himself. She was _right there_ nearly in his arms, and _oh_ the way she was looking at him made his heart thump oddly in his chest. Her eyes were warm, those beautiful, _intoxicating_ eyes sparkling with heat in their depths, and he couldn't look away except to gaze at that pretty little mouth... lips parted and her breaths coming in quick succession as her gaze flitted to his own lips.

 

_Fuck._

 

“Good.” He said quietly, nearly forgetting to respond to her statement. He had been watching her all day, amazed at the grace with which she accepted the desert, in awe of how she fought in the sand like she was made for it... using it to her advantage and coming out completely unscathed. She was a wonder to watch, like some vengeful desert goddess, the wind whipping her golden hair around her like a crown as she leapt from the dunes, slaying their quarry with a rain of arrows before anyone else could touch it. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off of her, and she had caught him... multiple times, looking away with a blush and chewing her lip like she had just moments prior.

 

He ran his thumb over the length of her lip again, a smirk tugging at his at her sharp little intake of breath. Her gaze was pleading, though he doubted she was aware, and he found himself being drawn in, unable to fight it even if he wished to. Her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned forward.

 

“Bull.” She breathed his name like a prayer and he was nearly lost, wishing for nothing else but to hear his name on her lips as long as he breathed. His hand grazed her cheek as he moved it into her hair, pulling her closer until he could feel her breath on his lips.

 

“Ow! Fuck!” There was a rustling of movement and hissed expletives from Westley and Dorian's tent and the moment was broken as their gazes simultaneously snapped to the flaps of their tent. His hand fell from her hair and he leaned back as Westley stumbled from the tent clutching his nose, blood leaking between his fingers. Dorian scrambled out after him, looking sufficiently panicked and apologetic all at once.

 

“I didn't mean to, Amatus! The spider was chasing me!” Westley shot him an unamused look as he clutched his nose, and Liahra laughed as she rose, reaching into the camp supplies for a rag, shooting Bull a secretive, shy look. She handed it to Westley, covering her laugh as Dorian apologized profusely.

 

“And with that, I'm off to bed.” Liahra said with a chuckle, bowing dramatically to the distracted couple. She turned and placed her hand on Bull's shoulder, and he glanced up at her, that inscrutable look in his eye again. She bit her lip. “Bull.” She said quietly, inclining her head, and then she was gone behind the flaps of her tent. He ignored the squabble behind him and looked into the fire, clenching his jaw painfully and exhaling heavily through his nose.

 

_Well, fuck._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You may find me at my [tumblr](http://silent-of-spirit.tumblr.com/), where you can also prompt me or strike up a friendly chat :) I love talking to people, don't be shy <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! More prompts always to come.


	8. Grey Wardens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Liahra have a disagreement.

“Ah, Inquisitor I was hoping to speak with you.” Liahra raised her eyes from the book she had open in her hands as she crossed the rotunda. She was intending to speak with Dorian about some of the contents, namely the Tevene passages that confused her when she was stopped by Solas.

 

“Of course, Solas. What may I do for you? I thought you were with Aluriel today.” She said, marking her place in the book with a strip of leather from her pocket. She tucked a stray hair behind her ear, looking at him patiently. His gaze was hard, and she had to fight back the niggling suspicion in the back of her mind that this was going to be an unpleasant conversation.

 

“Have you lost all of your good senses?” He asked her, almost too calmly. Well, no sense in fighting the feeling anymore... it was definitely going to be unpleasant.

 

“I beg your pardon?” She said sweetly, raising a brow in challenge. She fixed him with her gaze, the warning clear in the depths of her eyes. She didn't want to deal with this, not while everyone was still so fragile from the events at Adamant. The Nightmare had nearly destroyed them, bringing them to their knees as it prodded at the most tender places in their hearts. The _last_ thing she wanted to deal with was more superiority bullshit.

 

“Accepting the Grey Wardens in without question? You must have had a serious lapse in judgment, Inquisitor.” He said, voice impassive and nearly bored. Her temper flared and she struggled to reign it in, adjusting her stance and clutching the book a little more tightly, feeling the skin stretch over her knuckles.

 

“You are my friend, and I value your counsel, Solas, but this is not a matter on which I need your opinion or advice.” She spoke carefully, watching his every move like a hawk. He wasn't going to let this go, but damned if she wasn't going to at least _try_ to be diplomatic about it. The last thing she needed was a scandal... gossip spread through Skyhold like wildfire. She moved to step around him, stopping at the sound of his voice again.

 

“They are fanatics.”

 

“They made a mistake.”

 

“A mistake?” Solas snapped in disbelief. She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly through her nose.

 

 _Here we go._ She thought bitterly as she turned back to face him, placing her book on his desk and leaning back against it.

 

“I didn't realize that summoning a demon army was a simple _mistake_ , Inquisitor. Thank the Creators that you are here to judge such simple misunderstandings.” She clenched her jaw against the welling irritation, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared him down.

 

“Be careful, Solas.” She warned, knowing full well that he would take the brunt of her bottled frustrations if he continued. He instead arched a brow in defiance, chuckling softly.

 

“Or what? You would keep a corrupt organization under the protection of the Inquisition, but discharge a lone elf who mildly insulted you?”

 

She pushed off the desk, nostrils flaring subtly. “What would you have me do, Solas?” She demanded, her voice rising and echoing in the rotunda. “Would you have me exile them, never to be seen again?”

 

“Yes!” Came his heated reply. She could see the curious faces peeking over the library balcony, and she urged herself to remember her station, to lower her voice and speak reasonably. She took a deep breath.

 

“We all make mistakes.” She said quietly, pinning him with a pointed look that was filled with warning. He ignored it.

 

“Their _mistake_ would have wiped out Thedas had we failed. Does that mean nothing?” He spat.

 

“They were _scared!_ ” She yelled, narrowing her eyes as she clenched her fists at her sides. “They _all_ heard the calling, Solas, or had you forgotten? They thought they were dying, and so they wanted to eliminate future Blights in the event of their extinction.” She took a solid step forward. “Could you say you wouldn't have done the same?”

 

“A desperate act for a hopeless cause!” He shot back. “Perhaps in their minds they saw it as noble, the ultimate sacrifice, but _reality_ shows something much different!”

 

“And what would you know of reality?” She snapped, “Forever stuck with your head in the Fade, I'm surprised you even recognize the word anymore!”

 

“They-”

 

“Were desperate, yes. Scared, yes. But it was still a _mistake_! You would snatch away from them their chance at atonement?” The fire was blazing in her eyes, and she couldn't stop herself from speaking. “They have saved the world _five times over_ and you would see them gone? What about the next Blight? Who is to stop it from blanketing the world in death if they are gone?”

 

“There are other ways.” He said, voice thinly veiled with anger.

 

“Well, then please enlighten us! _Please_ explain to us how we can stop the Blights without having to send men and women off to their deaths!”

 

“They sacrifice themselves unnecessarily.” He snapped, and she surged forward, sending him stepping back in surprise.

 

“They have sacrificed _everything_ to keep us safe! The Wardens may have made mistakes, but they offer a life of honor to those whose lives may have been forfeit. To those dying, or scared, or condemned. They have _saved_ all of us, and they have given _everything_.” She clenched her fists, her nails digging harshly into her palms. “You speak of their sacrifice as though it were easily avoidable, while offering _nothing_ in return.”

 

Something flashed in his eyes, and he straightened, fixing her with a cold glare. “You ignore that most of them are criminals and vagabonds-”

 

“Is that all you see? They are _people_ , Solas. No different from us!”

 

“No different?” He scoffed in disbelief.

 

“Yes! Believe it or not, you are not better than anyone else.” She sucked in a steadying breath, reigning in the urge to shove him. “They are wives and husbands, sons and daughters, brothers and sisters. When you speak ill of them, you speak ill of their families, of the people who loved them.” There were tears pricking at the corners of her eyes and she blinked them back angrily. “ _Every_ life in this world has a purpose. Every life matters! Do _not_ presume yours is the only one that does. They live and breathe and eat and love as we do, and deserve no less respect!”

 

Solas smiled ferally then, a sudden realization seeming to dawn on him. “Ah, that's what this is?” He said with wicked amusement. “It's for _her_ , isn't it?”

 

Her heart clenched painfully. “Watch your tongue. You are still here at _my_ mercy.” She hissed, voice dangerously low. His eyes darkened.

 

“Because you loved her so much, you can't bear to think of the organization she once belonged to as obsolete and corrupt. Some perverted sense of _duty_ is what keeps them here?”

 

The tight hold she had over her control snapped like a bow strung too tightly, and her fist was flying through the air before she even registered that she had moved. It met his cheek with a sickening crack, and she felt the blood spray as he fell to the stone. She looked down at him with fury, breathing heavily as he clutched his cheek and stared up at her with wide, shocked eyes.

 

“You will not speak of her.” She hissed. “You have _no right_.” She took a step back, shaking her hand against the pain blossoming in her knuckles. “I have my beliefs, and you have yours. I will not be swayed by your opinion on this matter. You may think me foolish all you like, Solas, but I made the choice that best fits with my own code of morals and what I believe in. If you don't like it, no one is keeping you here.” She swallowed thickly, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill as she looked at him bleeding on the floor.

 

 _That was your friend._ The nasty voice in her head said. _He was your friend and look how casually you tossed him to the side._ She shook her head vigorously to clear the thoughts, glancing at him in apology. The anger in his eyes was gone, replaced instead by a grudging respect, and it was as if he was seeing her for the first time. She turned away, stomach turning.

 

“I will send Aluriel to see to your face.” She said hoarsely before looking up to the library balcony. “Dorian!” She called out, knowing very well he had seen the whole thing and was pretending very badly that he hadn't. His head poked over the railing. She gestured to the book she had left on Solas' desk. “I would prefer our study session not take place here today, if you don't mind.” Her gaze flicked to her hand, now swelling horribly and taking on a mottled coloring. “Meet me in an hour. Bring wine.” She didn't wait for his nod before she was striding out of the door, clutching her hand to her chest as she made her way to the healers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You may find me at my [tumblr](http://silent-of-spirit.tumblr.com/), where you can also prompt me or strike up a friendly chat :) I love talking to people, don't be shy <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! More prompts always to come.


	9. DWC: Horses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malika doesn't like horses. How kind Blackwall is to offer assistance.

Malika eyed the beast in front of her warily, taking an uneasy step back when it snorted and tossed its head. It was huge, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste at the thought of getting on top of the horrid thing.

 

“Everything alright, my lady?” She heard Blackwall say behind her, and she looked over her shoulder to see him leading his own horse from the stables, already saddled and packed with gear. That beast was even bigger than the one she was intended to ride, and she gave Blackwall a dubious look. He raised his brows in response, a small smile pulling at his lips. “You don't ride, do you?”

 

She huffed and turned back to her own steed, glaring at it in hopes it would disappear. “Why can't we walk?” She muttered grumpily, crossing her arms.

 

“Well, I suppose you could.” Blackwall mused as he walked up behind her. She could hear him scratching at his beard, and he chuckled. “Of course, you'd get there well after a month the rest of us do. Our work would likely be done by then.” She gave him a sideways glance, brows knitted together in irritation.

 

“I don't like horses.” She grumbled, ignoring his look of mild surprise. “I've seen my fair share of dwarves killed by the brutes. Faces smashed in as if by my hammer and not a blasted hoof.” He shuffled next to her, seeming to consider her horse for a moment before he cleared his throat.

 

“You could... ehm... ride with me, if you'd like.” He said it so quietly she almost missed it, but she turned her face to him, eyes narrowed.

 

“Why? So you and Sera can make fun of me for not being able to ride on my own? No thanks.” She sneered and stomped into the barn, searching for a saddle that would fit her. She rolled her eyes when she heard him follow inside after a moment.

 

“My sincerest apologies if that was the impression I gave, my lady.”

 

“My name is Malika. Enough with this 'My Lady' shite.” She mumbled as her gaze raked over the saddles on the wall. “I'm not some noble-born who expects to be pandered to. I hate formalities.”

 

“Again, I'm sorry.” She closed her eyes and took a breath, trying to reign in her anger at the whole situation. He was always so kind to her, so earnest and sweet. He didn't deserve her ire. “I offered because I am an experienced rider, and I thought it may offer you a little more comfort to ride with me than on your own.”

 

Malika turned swiftly on her heel and strode over to him, hands on her hips. She stopped just before him and looked up with narrowed eyes. “Not a word to Sera.” She hissed, and he chuckled despite himself.

 

“Understood.”

 

“Good, then let's go.” She said flippantly, marching over to his brute of a horse before realizing in vague horror that there was no way she would be able to get onto it. She felt the deep flush creeping up her cheeks as she glared at the stirrups.

 

“Need a hand?” Came Blackwall's damnably amused voice from behind her and she shook her head vehemently, reaching for the reins to try and pull herself up. Even on her toes, she couldn't reach, and she felt the flush creep higher. Why was his damn horse so big?

 

“You'd think you're compensating for something with the size of your horse, Blackwall.” She said in an effort to regain some kind of control. His laugh startled her, loud and deep and thoroughly amused. She crossed her arms again, trying to fight her embarrassed blush.

 

“May I?” She heard him rumble from beside her, and she jumped slightly in surprise, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes, his face now level with hers. She averted her gaze and made a noncommittal noise, gesturing vaguely at the horse. He laughed again and she felt his hands rest just above her hips. She flushed deeper, and she assured herself it was from the shame of it and certainly _not_ from the way his hands felt. He lifted her heavily muscled form as easily as if she were made of paper and set her gently in the saddle.

 

“Thank you.” She huffed, looking anywhere but down. She hated being up this high. It was _unnatural_.

 

“Of course.” He chuckled and pulled himself into the saddle behind her, taking up the reins and making a sort of cage of him around her. She certainly appreciated how she felt much safer with that. He clicked his tongue and the beast started to move. Malika's eyes widened in horror, and she clutched Blackwall's thighs behind her with an iron grip, trying to steady herself, pressing back into him as if to escape. She felt rather than heard his answering laugh, rumbling through his chest.

 

“I've got you, I promise.” He said from above her. Her nostrils flared and she nearly bolted off of the creature before one of his arms abandoned the reins and wrapped around her waist, holding her securely against him. “I've got you.” He said again, more soothing than amused this time.

 

“Don't let go.” She muttered quietly, and he chuckled.

 

“Never.” He replied softly, and she felt the heat flood her cheeks again. Damn it, what was wrong with her? “Besides, there are certainly worse things than having a lovely woman pressed against you on a long journey.” He said with a laugh. It worked and broke the tension in her, and she elbowed him as she smiled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You may find me at my [tumblr](http://silent-of-spirit.tumblr.com/), where you can also prompt me or strike up a friendly chat :) I love talking to people, don't be shy <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! More prompts always to come.


	10. DWC: Shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill and Isabela get into trouble, because of course they do.

Isabela sat on the bed in her cabin, watching Merrill stumble about with a fond smile. Her glass of brandy was in one hand, while Merrill's was in the other as she insisted upon dancing for the Rivaini, albeit clumsily. She wasn't used to the rocking mostions of the ship yet, but her efforts were undeniably adorable. Isabela placed the glasses on the small table beside her bed, rising and drawing up behind the little elf, catching her as she turned and sweeping her into a more intimate dance. Merrill's already pink cheeks grew scarlet as the pirate pulled her flush, giggling helplessly when Isabela dipped her back.

 

“You are so adorable, kitten.” Isabela purred when she pulled Merrill back up, grinning at her wide eyed look. Merrill smiled brilliantly, fluttering her eyelashes as she danced away. Isabela watched with a smirk as Merrill's dancing became decidedly less clumsy and much more tempting. She danced over to the table and took a large swig of the drink inside, coughing and spluttering as she did so. Isabela burst into laughter, pulling the ef into her arms and patting her back gently. “It's a sipping drink, kitten. Have to be careful.” Merrill's eyes were watering from her coughing fit, but she smiled and slumped into Isabela's embrace, humming happily.

 

“I missed you.” She slurred against her chest. Isabela pet her hair and smiled, pulling her over to the bed to sit. “Oh!” Merrill exclaimed suddenly, shooting up in Isabela's arms quickly enough to nearly bash her in the nose. She leaned back with a chuckle, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Do you know what would make this more fun?” She asked happily, practically bouncing in Isabela's lap.

 

“What's that?” She asked, taking a drink from her own glass.

 

“Hawke!”

 

“I think we're having plenty of fun, kitten. Don't you?” Isabela asked with a raised brow and a smirk on her lips. Merrill smiled shyly and plucked the drink from the Rivaini's hand, placing it gently on the table.

 

“Let's have more fun.” She said against Isabela's lips, pressing her own to them eagerly. A pleased sound rumbled through the pirate's chest and she pulled Merrill closer, so preoccupied with removing the elf's complicated buckles that she didn't even notice the hum of magic in the air.

 

“What the fuck?” Isabela froze, eyes wide as she pulled away from Merrill to see Hawke in the middle of her cabin floor... stark naked. Merrill's hands flew to her mouth, eyes wide in shock. Hawke looked around, fixing her furious gaze on the two of them, more pointedly on Merrill.

 

“Oops.” Merrill said, voice muffled by her hands.

 

“Oops?” Hawke asked incredulously, snatching the offered blanket from Isabela as she covered herself. She seemed to just notice the rocking motions, and her face went pale. “I'm on your ship, aren't I?” Isabela exchanged an uneasy look with Merrill before nodding curtly.

 

“I'm sorry! I was thinking of you and I guess I'm a little drunk and I didn't even realize I was doing it and I didn't mean to summon you!” Merrill rambled, hands fluttering around her in nervousness.

 

“Well, as if Fenris wasn't going to be angry enough at our...” Hawke paused, looking pointedly at the elf, “interruption, he now has to find out that I have been teleported to the middle of the ocean. I don't envy you two.” Hawke snapped her gaze to Isabela, who was still looking on in shock. “Is my cabin still unoccupied?” She snapped, turning on her heel and leaving the cabin at Isabela's nod of confirmation. They both looked at the door for a few more moments before looking at each other.

 

“Oops.” Merrill said again, and Isabela burst into hearty laughter, clutching her stomach.

 

“I wish I could have seen his face!” She crowed before pulling Merrill close again. “Oh, kitten, I missed you too.” She said, still laughing as she bent to take her lips.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You may find me at my [tumblr](http://silent-of-spirit.tumblr.com/), where you can also prompt me or strike up a friendly chat :) I love talking to people, don't be shy <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! More prompts always to come.


	11. DWC: Overstimulation*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull and Liahra shameless smut. Blame Vesania94 for this.

“Close your eyes.” Liahra looked up from her paperwork at the sound of Bull's voice from the stairs. She raised a brow and looked him over in the dim light, one hand noticeably hiding something behind his back. Her gaze traveled up his solid frame, caressing the musculature and scars with her eyes before they rested on his one, glittering darkly in the shadows. She felt a shiver go up her spine, and she bit her lip as her heart fluttered uncertainly in her chest.

 

“What did I say?” He growled, and the sound sent heat pooling low in her belly. She slid her eyes shut, swallowing past the lump in her throat, excited, afraid, and nervous all at once, paperwork already long forgotten. How did he have this effect on her? She heard him drop something on the ground. It sounded thick and heavy... a bag of some sort? She didn't have much time to ponder it before her senses were consumed by him. She hadn't even heard him approach, but she felt him there, close enough that she could feel his heat and smell his heady scent. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but he had not allowed her that yet. So she sat as still as she was able, fingers twitching in her lap as he remained where he was, unmoving. Her heart was hammering behind her ribs, her breath already quickening in anticipation, and he hadn't even touched her. She heard him chuckle, a low sound that rumbled through his chest, and she swallowed thickly as the heat shot through her again. She felt him lean down, felt the tickle of his hot breath on her ear. She suppressed a shudder.

 

“I can see the wheels in your head turning, kadan.” She felt something soft and smooth brush across her cheek as he rose and stepped behind her. It almost felt like silk. He let whatever it was dangle in front of her so that it brushed her collarbone, barely exposed above the shirt she wore. She shivered at the contact, biting her lip in disappointment when it abruptly disappeared. “What is your watchword?” He demanded from behind her.

 

“Katoh.” She said breathlessly.

 

“Good girl.” The praise rumbled through him and she smiled at the wave of pride that coursed through her. She loved to please him, even in those small ways. The silk returned, brushing over her collarbone and up to the side of her neck and shoulder, the touch of the soft fabric on her already sensitive skin sending shivers through her. Every nerve was on end with anticipation, and it made the silk that much more tantalizing. It slid up her cheek before it disappeared again, only to reappear as it settled over her eyes. Bull tied it off behind her head, unbinding her hair so it fell loose down her back. He took a fistful of it, pulling sharply enough that a startled gasp found its way from her lips. She tipped her head back obediently.

 

“Who do you belong to?” He asked, tugging her hair again to try and elicit that little sound he loved so much. A small whimper escaped her parted lips and he grinned.

 

“You.” She said, a surprised cry wrenched from her when he pulled her hair viciously.

 

“Who?”

 

“The Iron Bull!” She exclaimed, and he growled as he descended upon her lips. She returned his kiss with fervor, making a needy sound that he consumed. He bit her bottom lip hard enough to taste the metallic tang of her blood, and she moaned, her hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders and pull him closer. His tongue darted out to lap at the wound on her lip, and she opened herself to him, allowing him to deepen the kiss and devour her. She was so intoxicating, he wanted to take her right here... bend her over her paperwork and hear her scream his name. Her hands were trailing down his chest, ghosting over his skin in a way that made him shudder. He kissed her still, consuming what she gave and demanding more, her small sounds of need fueling the blaze within him.

 

He forced himself away at the feel of her hands tugging his belt, and he grabbed both of her wrists in one swift motion, pulling them high above her head. “So eager?” He murmured, watching her chew on her lip as she squirmed in her chair. “I haven't even started, my little pet.” She whined and a feral grin overtook his face. He pulled her up by her wrists, making a pleased hum at the sharp intake of breath it elicited.

 

“Stand.” He ordered, and she obeyed immediately, settling her feet on the ground.

 

She was breathing hard, heart pounding in her chest, and her lip ached in the most delicious way. He released her wrists, arms falling limply to her sides, and freed her hair. She felt his heavy hands settle on her shoulders, and he turned her before his hands receded. She stood, feeling his gaze upon her, and she couldn't hide the flush that was creeping up her neck into her cheeks. What was he thinking? Did he like what he saw? She hated not being able to see.

 

“Stop thinking and walk.” He commanded. She heard the scrape of the legs of her chair on the stone floor, heard him settle into it. “Walk. I won't ask again.” He said, voice dangerously low. She shivered, sucking in a shaky breath before she obeyed, swaying her hips in a way that he had told her drove him crazy. She stepped carefully, pausing only slightly when the cool stone gave way to plush carpet. She ran her hands up her curves experimentally, growing more bold when she heard his growl of appreciation.

 

“Strip.” He ordered, and she heard him rise from the chair, her heart hammering wildly. Her shaking hands struggled with the clasps on her shirt, fingers slipping as she tried to unfasten it. She inhaled sharply at the feel of him behind her, his large hands trailing up her arms to her shoulders. “Do I need to help you?” He growled into her ear, and her stomach flipped in response, the pulse point in her neck jumping at the feel of his breath on her skin.

 

“P-please.” She stammered, her breath stolen away as his hands traveled down over her shoulders to her collarbone, agonizingly slow. She shuddered at the feel of his skin finally on hers, however brief the contact.

 

“Look at you.” He purred into her ear, his hands continuing their torturously slow descent to the clasps on her shirt. “I've barely touched you and you're already so eager for me.” His fingers flicked the first clasp open. “I bet you're sopping wet, aren't you?” She felt the cool air creep down her shirt as the second was removed. “Little elf slut just longing for her qunari overlord.” She made a needy sound in the back of her throat, her entire body humming with awareness. His breath was hot on her ear, the pressure of his hands heavy, despite the lightness with which he unfastened her shirt. She gasped as he nipped the tip of her ear, pausing for a moment before the sound of shredding fabric reached her. There was a tinkling sound, and she realized it was the metal fasteners of her shirt skidding over the stone. The cool air hit her a moment later, her skin prickling with gooseflesh and her breast band feeling suddenly far too confining as she felt her sensitive nipples rubbing against the fabric.

 

His hands were on her skin then, and she let out a quiet moan of relief pressing back against him, desperate for more contact. His hands caressed the softness of her stomach, moving to the sensitive scar on her right hip and tracing it gently with his fingertips to where it ended just beneath her breast. She squirmed against him, skin on fire from the brief contact, moaning when his teeth found her neck, biting harshly. She felt confined in her clothing and she wanted it gone, wanted to feel him against her. His tongue lapped at the bite, soothing it, and she whimpered, her fingers pulling at the ties on her trousers until they loosened and fell from her hips. She heard him rumble in appreciation, and he stepped away, leaving her feeling bereft.

 

“I was wondering when you would remember my instruction.” He said quietly, a wicked amusement coloring his words. She reached for her breast band, tugging until it came free, letting the strip of fabric flutter to the carpet as her breasts fell heavily against her chest. She reached for her smalls.

 

“No.” He said, catching her off guard. “Get on the bed.” She stood for a moment, unsure of what to do, knowing she couldn't remove the blindfold. He chuckled at her hesitation. “Two steps forward, girl. Now obey.”

 

She stepped carefully, stumbling slightly when her thighs butted up against the edge. She crawled forward, displaying her ass for good measure, and she smiled at the sound it evoked. “On your back.” He snarled. “Legs and arms spread.” She heard him cross the room and untie something, she assumed it was the bag he had dropped earlier. The instant she had laid back, he seized her right wrist, and she felt the unmistakable texture of rope on her skin. He tied quickly, securing her to the bedpost, and then he moved around the bed to her other, making quick work of it too, placing a searing kiss against the mark that sent a wave of heat through her, a moan wrenched from her throat.

 

“Bull.” She whined, raising her hips and swaying. He pressed her down before withdrawing. She heard his belt hit the floor, followed by a rustling of fabric before she felt the bed shift with his weight.

 

“You will not cum without my permission. Is that clear?” She nodded eagerly, heat washing her anew with his murmured praise. “Don't move.” He said, the threat in his tone clear. She cried out at the cold sensation suddenly on her skin, almost painful against the searing heat. She tried not to jump, tried desperately to listen to his orders, and she managed to fight it, clenching her jaw at the effort. “Mmm, such a good girl.” He rumbled, and she felt the prick of what it was now, the cold metal blade of a knife. He dragged it slowly over her skin, the cold metal sending her gasping with every new inch of heated skin it explored. He slid it along the swells of her breasts, not sharply enough to cut her, but enough to remind her to stay still. Every muscle in her body strained with the effort of doing so, adding an entirely new height of sensitivity until she was nearly quivering beneath his ministrations. She could feel everything... the slide of her hair against her skin, the softness of the fur beneath her, the heat rolling off of her lover in waves, the coolness of the metal against her skin, and it was too much and not enough all at once.

 

“Bull.” She whined again, voice breathless and pleading.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Please.” She whispered, fighting against the urge to push up against where she knew he sat.

 

“What do you want, girl?” He demanded, the knife suddenly pressed against her throat. Her heart raced with excitement, and she whimpered, pulling against the ropes on her wrists. She felt his hand settle just above her belly, drifting down. She raised her hips to him, needy gasps escaping her lips. She was throbbing. She could feel the moisture between her thighs, her smalls sticking to her skin. His hand was moving so slowly, the other keeping the knife pressed firmly to her throat, and a frustrated groan forced itself from her. He chuckled at the sound, removing his hand from her skin and hovering over where she longed for his touch. She pressed her hips toward him, small sounds of distress leaking from her lips.

 

“Bull!” She said again, her tone pleading.

 

“Tell me what you want.” He growled into her ear, pressing the knife more firmly against her.

 

“Please, touch me. Please, Ser!” She begged, thrusting her hips into the air. “Please.” She very nearly sobbed the word.

 

“Such a needy little slut.” He chuckled, gliding his hand up her inner thigh as she squirmed. He finally, _finally_ pressed one long finger against the wet fabric, dragging it along the indentation of her slit beneath. She let out a low, keening cry, trying to rub against him for more friction. “So fucking wet for me.” He murmured into her ear, nipping at the lobe. “You've ruined your smalls.” He removed the knife from her throat, dragging the point down her body to her hip, where he sliced the fabric before moving to the other side. He lifted the ruined garment to his nose and took a deep inhale, hearing her suck in her own breath at the sound. He tossed them to the side, adjusting himself so he was hovering over her, her body visibly quivering. He leaned down and took her lips in a searing kiss, his fingers roaming over her folds in a lazy pattern, avoiding the little bundle of nerves at her core. He swallowed the needy noises she made, moving his lips to her jaw, her neck, her shoulder, down until he took the rosy bud of one nipple into his mouth, circling it with his tongue. She arched into him, a ragged gasp torn from her lungs. She was awash in sensation. Every touch was torture, and yet she needed more. She ached for it, pressing herself into his fingers and mouth, unable to find the words to beg for him. His teeth scraped over the sensitive flesh and she cried out, tugging at her bonds. He turned his attentions to the other, and she was sure she would explode if he did not give her what she needed. His fingers were artfully avoiding the place she most desperately wanted his attentions focused on, no matter how much she moved against him. She gasped, her body as tense as a bowstring, ready to snap.

 

His mouth moved lower, kissing the sensitive scar and tracing it down to her hip with his tongue, peppering her navel with kisses as he made his way across, pausing just above the tuft of dark hair between her legs. She could feel his hot breath brushing her core, and it was nearly too much. She made a small pleading noise, raising her hips. He blew on her, causing her to buck at the new sensation, and he laid a heavy arm over her hips, forcing her back down.

 

“Is this what you want, pet?”

 

“Please!” She gasped out, frustration and need evident in her voice. The instant his tongue flicked against her, white light exploded behind her eyes and she cried out, the orgasm crashing over her like waves in a storm. Her body was alight with sensation, pleasure pulsing through her until she trembled with the aftershocks. Bull slapped the side of her thigh and she yelped.

 

“What did I say?” He demanded, slapping the same spot again so hard she was sure it would bruise. It stung horribly with her heightened sensitivity, but it hurt so _good_ that she couldn't help the moan that escaped.

 

“I-I'm sorry” She managed to stammer, her body burning with the heat of her need. He knew how sensitive she was. It was a challenge for her, and she had failed.

 

“I guess you don't need any preparation then, huh?” He growled, positioning himself over her. “So eager to disobey my rules.” She heard him take in a ragged breath as he stroked himself, the head of his shaft pressing against her. “Cum again without my permission and see what happens, kadan.” He hissed at her, hilting himself within her in one smooth stroke. A wretched cry was wrenched from her throat, pain blossoming at the sudden intrusion. She felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes beneath the fabric covering them. She drew in a shaky breath, feeling the quick puffs of his on her skin. He groaned as he pulled back, almost completely withdrawing before he thrust into her again, hard and brutal. She moaned, low and broken, the pain bleeding into pleasure until she couldn't tell the difference between them. He thrust again, and she was sure she would come apart beneath him, every move sending shockwaves of sensation through her already heightened senses.

 

He found his rhythm, hard and fast, and she was lost, pulling desperately at his bindings, wanting to touch him, to feel him, to claw into his skin and leave his skin marred with the marks of her pleasure. “Fuck.” He groaned, capturing her lips as he continued his brutal assault. She met them eagerly, desperate to taste him and claim him in equal measure. She broke away with a gasp throwing her head back against the pillows as she tried to fight the orgasm that threatened to take her.

 

“Bull.” She panted, every muscle in her body taut with the effort of holding back.

 

“No.” He said simply, teeth latching on to the place on her neck where her pulse hammered beneath the skin. She moaned brokenly, clenching around him in a way that made him growl into her skin. She fought the tide of pleasure back again, breathing heavily and focusing all of her energy on making sure she did not disobey again.

 

“Please!” She gasped, clenching her jaw painfully against yet another wave of pleasure that threatened to overcome her.

 

“Hold it.” He growled into her shoulder, grunting as he rutted into her. She let out an anguished cry at his words, pulling at her bindings until her hands began to tingle.

 

“I can't!” She wailed, arching her body into him as she tried to fight it.

 

“You can. Just a little longer, kadan.” He rasped in her ear. She threw her head back into the pillows, feeling herself clench again. Bull groaned and lifted his head, crushing her lips with his. She felt the sting of her lip reopening, tasted the tang of her blood, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Her senses were overwhelmed and it was too much... too much... the watchword hovered on her tongue, but before she could say it he broke away. “Cum.” He demanded, his voice ragged. “Let all of Skyhold know who you belong to.”

 

It took her so hard that she couldn't even make a sound for the first few seconds, her voice stolen from her throat as she saw stars. It came back to her in the form of a keening cry that she was sure could be heard in the Emprise. She was overcome with pleasure, every nerve humming with it, and Bull followed with a roar, hips stuttering as he emptied himself within her. Her heart was pounding as her orgasm rolled over her in waves, relentless even after Bull had finished. He panted above her, gritting his teeth as each wave caused her to clench him again, until finally, _finally_ it had subsided, leaving her trembling. He extricated himself with a groan, and Liahra whimpered softly at the loss of him. She felt his lips brush her forehead, and his hands were suddenly busy with the knots on her wrists, rubbing them tenderly when they were freed. He crawled onto the bed beside her, pulling her trembling form close as he breathed in the scent of her hair.

 

“ _Fuck_ , kadan.” He finally managed, and she chuckled sleepily in his arms, humming in agreement. He pulled the blankets and furs over them, nuzzling into her hair as her breathing evened out into the tell-tale signs of slumber. He followed shortly after, never feeling more content than in that moment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You may find me at my [tumblr](http://silent-of-spirit.tumblr.com/), where you can also prompt me or strike up a friendly chat :) I love talking to people, don't be shy <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! More prompts always to come.


	12. Poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liahra doesn't feel well.

Liahra had a headache. It was a terrible, pounding thing, causing the words on the papers before her to blur out of focus. She leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples irritably. The voices of the Well whispered in her mind, incoherent things she could barely understand. They seemed to be trying to warn her at the moment, though about what she could not decipher. While not the cause of her headaches, she was sure, they were certainly a contributing factor.

 

Their narrow escape plagued her, the look of fury on Corypheus' face fueling her nightmares, which grew ever more vivid as time went on and the mark grew. Bull and Dorian were her only sources of comfort, the tension between her and Venalya growing to a breaking point, while Aluriel buried her nose in studies of the Fade. Even Cole had been somewhat scarce of late, though she couldn't deny that the mood around Skyhold had improved. Helping from afar, she supposed.

 

Everything was strained. While they won a victory at the Temple, Corypheus was still at large, and who knew where. She was supposed to go to the Altar of Mythal to seek answers, though the Well had yet to divulge the location or the reason why. Everything was so cryptic, and she wished not for the first time that she had given it to Morrigan.

 

Atop her usual stresses, her monthly had started the night before, the flow significant enough to make her dizzy and send Bull into a panicked state at the amount of blood beneath her in bed. She had to assure him that no, she wasn't injured, and yes, it was perfectly normal for more blood to be present in times of great stress. He drew her a hot bath and made her tea, changing her linens while she soaked. He always knew exactly what she needed, rubbing the knots out of her back with skilled fingers as the sun rose, pulling her close when she had sufficiently melted beneath his ministrations. Creators, but that man was a blessing.

 

“Hey, uh, Sunshine?” She looked up at Varric's hesitant voice, the dwarf fidgety and nervous at the top of her stairs. She raised a brow in acknowledgment, trying her utmost to keep the irritation from her face. “There's an incident in the rotunda.” He said hesitantly. “With Chuckles and Sparky.”

 

That got her attention, and she was immediately on her feet, halfway across the room before the dwarf registered that she had moved. She brushed past him, running down the stairs. For it to make Varric nervous, it must have been something.

 

She strode into the great hall, purpose in her steps as she shoved through the crowd gathered around the rotunda door. She really wished she hadn't.

 

The rotunda was a mess, paints spilled on the floor, papers scattered over tiles, Solas' desk tipped on its side. The source of the disarray was standing in the middle of the room, stormy gaze fixed on Solas with a fury that chilled Liahra to her bones. She could feel the electricity crackling in the air, Venalya's power barely restrained. Solas stood, looking passive and almost bored, taking no heed of the audience gathered above and behind him. Liahra caught Dorian's gaze on the upper level, a subtle shake of his head indicating, as if she needed further proof, the severity of the situation.

 

Venalya shoved Solas. Hard. He stumbled back, but made no attempt to defend himself, that same impassive look present on his features.

 

“What did you do?” Venalya demanded, the words loaded with venom and blame. Liahra rushed in, placing herself between the two, a hard look pinned on the volatile woman.

 

“What is the meaning of this?” Liahra asked, looking between the two of them, voice dangerously calm. “I want an explanation. Now.”

 

“He and Aluriel went off somewhere last night. I thought nothing of it, thinking it another excursion into the Fade like they so treasured.” Liahra could feel the electricity on her skin, setting her teeth on edge and causing her head and gut to twinge painfully. She breathed through it, gritting her teeth. “He came back, alone, and a few hours later she returned as well.” Venalya was crackling with energy now, lightning visibly leaping in arcs over her skin.

 

“Her face was bare, Liahra.” She looked to Venalya in puzzlement, pain and discomfort clouding her mind. “The vallaslin was washed from her face like paint. She didn't even look at me, Liahra. She locked herself in that damned study, and I know he did it!” She tried to surge forward, but Liahra physically restrained her, superior musculature winning out over rage.

 

“Enough!” She yelled, voice filled with such command that the buzz of the onlookers immediately ceased and Venalya's static dissipated. She whirled on the furious stormcaller, gaze sharp, but voice dangerously calm once more.

 

“We do not know the story, lethallan. Rash action without justification was unwise and ill-considered.” The warning in her tone did nothing to abate the rage in her eyes, it seemed to only intensify it.

 

“Without justification?” Venalya shot back, incredulity lending itself to her tone. “He hurt her!” She screeched, the air beginning to prickle again.

 

“You don't know that!” Liahra's voice rose, “We have no knowledge of what transpired, and neither of them seem willing to share. Back away and consider your actions. We can reconvene on this matter when adequate facts are obtained.” Her head was aching with such intensity that her vision blurred, the anchor itching painfully, her gut twisting in on itself. She could feel a trail of blood beneath her leathers, the rags unable to contain it in her heightened emotional state. She did not feel well.

 

She could feel Venalya's acid gaze upon her through her haze, her voice dripping with venom. “Perhaps you don't know, Lady Inquisitor,” The title hit Liahra like a slap, coming from her. “So busy with your shems that you've forgotten us in the shuffle. I know her pain. What I'm doing is justice.” Liahra's heart clenched painfully at the bitter words, guilt wrenching her insides. There was a murmur of shocked voices from the crowd around them. She clenched her eyes shut, willing the words forth from her lips.

 

“It is not justice to act without cause. There is no _justice_ in acting without wisdom. What I see here is only rage.” If looks could kill, Liahra would have been fried on the spot. The electricity in the air had begun to hum, a dangerous look in the eyes of the stormcaller.

 

“You would take his side?” Venalya asked dangerously, “A flat-ear over your kin?”

 

Liahra's eyes snapped open, gaze glittering darkly at the accusation. “I will take no side until I am presented with the reality of the situation, as reason would demand!” She snapped, patience wearing thin.

 

“You should make him go. The Liahra I knew would have sent him away in an instant for hurting her kin.”

 

The dam of her irritation finally gave way, anger and guilt and anguish weeping into her words. “I am not that girl anymore!” She yelled, the onlookers falling into shocked silence. “I am the _Inquisitor_ and I will not let the desires of one person trump the needs of the entire Inquisition. Not mine, not my kin's.” She took a shuddering breath. “Now, _stand down_.” She commanded, trying not to let her authority wilt under the look of betrayal on her friend's face. Venalya turned on her heel, striding out of the door to the battlements with one last scathing look over her shoulder.

 

Liahra raised her chin, gaze traveling pointedly over the gathered crowd. “Back to your duties, all of you!” She barked, taking no satisfaction in how quickly they scurried from her sight. She spun on Solas, his look of impassivity given way to astonishment. She was sure he was not the only one. “We will have words later, Solas.” She hissed, marching toward the door back to the Hall.

 

She was blinded by pain, distantly aware of the sticky moisture on her thighs. Her stomach roiled and she stumbled slightly, angrily shoving away the hand that tried to steady her. She let memory guide her steps, stumbling again at the top of the stairs in her quarters. She barely made it to her privy in time, stomach heaving up the meager contents of her day's consumption.

 

There were gentle hands at her brow, brushing her hair back and holding it at the nape of her neck as another rubbed her back in soothing circles. She heard movement beyond, the sound of sloshing water in her metal tub ringing through her skull. She heaved again. One of the hands came around to her forehead, a soft swear escaping his lips.

 

“Bull, she's burning.” Came the familiar voice, though she couldn't quite place it. She felt as though the world was spinning around her, though she couldn't see it. There was ringing in her ears, the anchor flaring in her palm. She was cold... so cold, but the person had said she was burning? Intense pain ripped through her skull and her gut simultaneously, and she involuntarily convulsed in the person's arms, a strangled cry of pain wrenched from her throat.

 

“Kaffas.” The voice came again, panicked this time. “The blood!”

 

“This is normal, my ass.” Came a much deeper voice, something dark and almost scared lurking beneath the surface. “We need Aluriel. Go. I've got her.” The body behind her shifted, and she was transferred to one much larger, arms holding her with a tenderness she didn't know such size could possess. There was a gentle touch on her face, fingers rough and calloused, brushing the hair away.

 

“Stay with me, Kadan.” She heard the words over and over in her mind, the broken plea tugging at her consciousness. It tried to make her stay, but she was so tired.

 

_Stay with me, Kadan._

 

And then there was nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You may find me at my [tumblr](http://silent-of-spirit.tumblr.com/), where you can also prompt me or strike up a friendly chat :) I love talking to people, don't be shy <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! More prompts always to come.


	13. DWC: Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull is worried. Follow up to the chapter 'Poison'.

She wasn't waking up. Bull sat on the couch beside her bed, the candlelight casting his craggy face into shadow as he watched her for any sign of waking. He tensed every time she so much as twitched, heart pounding behind his ribs so hard he was sure it would break free. She had to be okay. She _needed to be okay._ _He_ needed it.

 

Aluriel sat diligently beside the prone elf, eyes closed in concentration as pale green light pulsed from her hands. It had been a week since the incident, and despite Aluriel's healing several times a day, Liahra showed no signs of getting any better.

 

“She is not dead. We must not lose hope, Bull.” She had told him one night, her voice soft and patient as ever, as though it was not her dearest friend laying just beyond. But Bull could see the fear and the pain in her eyes, and he knew it was mirrored in his own.

 

 _Fuck_ , it had scared him senseless when he woke that morning to see the amount of blood beneath her in bed. She had assured him it was fine, that her monthly was just running heavy because of missing a few. ' _Normal'_ she had said. He knew it wasn't normal. He should have done something then. He should have listened to his gut.

 

But he had done nothing, not until he was holding her long hair back as she retched into the privy, her skin as hot as fire and blood seeping through her leathers onto the floor. He held her in his arms as her eyes rolled back, glassy and unseeing, and he had never felt real fear until that moment. Not even the fear demon had incited such in him.

 

“Stay with me, kadan.” He had pleaded as Dorian had run to get Aluriel. He should have known. Now here she was, still unconscious and showing no signs of improvement because of his mistake. He hated himself for it. He took care of the servant, though. Leliana didn't even get a chance to question the poor sod. The instant Bull found out that it wasn't Liahra's usual servant who had served her meals the day before, he went on a rampage. He found out who it was within minutes, and he had practically torn the boy to shreds. Red didn't even berate him for it, only gave him that _look_ that meant there would be a discussion later.

 

“Kaffas. You're still here?” Dorian asked quietly from the stairs behind him. Bull did not tear his gaze from his elf. “When is the last time you slept?” Bull ignored him, staring at Liahra with focused intensity. He heard Dorian sigh heavily, setting the book he'd brought in on a side table. “You haven't slept all week, have you?”

 

“No.” Bull finally responded. He didn't even feel tired, and the last thing he wanted was to leave her now. Perhaps if he just didn't stop watching, then she wouldn't slip away.

 

“You need to rest.” Dorian said quietly, placing a gentle hand on Bull's shoulder. “You know she'll be furious when she wakes up to find out that you haven't slept at all for her sake.” Dorian chuckled softly. “I can hear her now, berating you for neglecting your needs.”

 

“At least she will be berating me, then. Better than nothing at all.” Bull rumbled quietly, and Dorian's smile fell as he followed Bull's gaze to where Liahra lay, Aluriel still focused on her work.

 

“It's not your fault, Bull.” Dorian said, looking back to his friend with sorrow. “You shouldn't blame yourself.”

 

“I knew something was wrong and I did nothing.”

 

“You trusted her to know her body. You trusted her to tell you if something was wrong. Do you really think she wouldn't have if she knew?”

 

Bull pressed his lips together in a fine line. Dorian was right, of course. She didn't feel like it was a cause for concern, or she would have told him in a heartbeat. She never hid anything from him anymore, as per their agreement, and neither did he. There was a ruffle of movement, and Bull surged to his feet as Aluriel's magic vanished and she turned to her bedridden friend. He went to take a step, but froze at Aluriel's sharp glance, a hand raised to him to stop.

 

“Lulu?” Came Liahra's confused voice, sounding impossibly small and broken. Aluriel smiled and ghosted a hand over Liahra's head.

 

“You haven't called me that since we were children.” She said quietly, eyes roving over her charge. Liahra lifted a weak hand to Aluriel's face, tracing the empty places where the valasslin once colored her skin.

 

“Are you alright?” She asked quietly, and Aluriel gave her an exasperated look and a fond smile.

 

“You have not changed at all, Liahra Lavellan. Asking me if I'm alright while you lay in your sick bed? Gracious.” Liahra knitted her brows together, opening her mouth as if to say something else. Aluriel put a finger to her lips. “Don't worry about me. We can speak of it when you've fully recovered.” She nodded once, though the gesture seemed heavy.

 

“Bull?” She asked, her voice cracking as a wet cough overtook her.

 

“He's here.” Aluriel looked over to him as she rose, giving him a small smile. She took Dorian's arm and they descended the stairs together as Bull stepped over to the bed, lowering himself into the chair beside it. She was so pale, the bronze ink in her skin standing out in stark contrast against the ghostly white. Her long blonde hair was fanned out on the pillow beneath her, and she looked just the same as she had this last week, but now those beautiful blue-green eyes were fixed on him, and he could barely hold back the emotion that burst forth at that. He was so afraid he would never see those eyes again, would never be able to touch her or hear her voice again. His heart clenched painfully, and he grabbed her hand, lowering his forehead to the back of it.

 

“Kadan.” He breathed reverently, disbelief and stark relief bleeding into the word. He took a shuddering breath when he felt her other hand caress his cheek. He turned his head to place a kiss in her palm.

 

“Vhenan.” She whispered, a small smile ghosting over her lips. “You're here.”

 

“Where else would I be?” He asked her softly, heart pounding. She only smiled, tracing the scars on his face with a feather-light touch. His throat tightened. “I thought I lost you.” He managed to choke out. “You scared me nearly to death.”

 

“Are you going soft on me, vhenan?” She asked lightly, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she smiled. He laughed breathlessly, reaching out to stroke her cheek.

 

“You know, I think I am.” He rumbled softly, gaze fixed on her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You may find me at my [tumblr](http://silent-of-spirit.tumblr.com/), where you can also prompt me or strike up a friendly chat :) I love talking to people, don't be shy <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! More prompts always to come.


	14. Curse of the Wolf and the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trespasser: Solas and Aluriel have a talk. Angst ahoy.

She hadn't tried to reach him once... not since he left. He had hoped with every fibre of his being that she had moved on and found happiness, while simultaneously knowing that she had not. That was her... that was how she had always been. Oh, but he had gone to her... frequently. He couldn't stay away no matter how he fought it... but when had he ever? She was always his weakness, and he couldn't stop the fall.

 

But was it falling when it never ended?

 

He had walked in her dreams and kept the demons at bay, the white muzzle of his wolven form stained black with their blood. He always stayed on the fringes, never allowing himself to get any closer, always watching with sad eyes. Her dreams were vivid creations of light and emotion, a stark contrast from the front the woman put forth when not in the Fade. She was muted... cold... a weariness settled into her bones that she carried with dignity. But here? Here she was free.

 

Yes, he had visited her dreams often, yet she hadn't tried once. Perhaps that was why he allowed it now, when he felt her testing the boundaries of his barrier. Curiosity, he told himself... but what wolf had ever been able to resist the call of the moon?

 

He let the barrier fall... felt her step through... and then there she was.

 

She was radiant, shining with an incandescence that made her seem ethereal. He was struck breathless at the sight of her, as he always was. She was moonlight personified, the heavens present in her eyes, and his mask of indifference crumbled beneath her gaze. He could not hide from her.

 

“Vhenan.” He greeted her, voice cracking.

 

“Fen'Harel.” Her voice was steady and even, not a hint of sadness or anger... only resignation.

 

“How long have you known?” He asked her quietly, not daring to move, not daring to breathe lest she vanish. She didn't speak for a moment, seeming to consider her words, but her eyes never left him. They were deep, the knowledge of a thousand lifetimes lingering in their depths, always just out of her reach but always in his memory.

 

“Since you took my vallaslin.” She finally said, her hands clasped firmly in front of her, formal, as though he were a stranger and not her vhenan... but he supposed he was a stranger to her now. “I knew you were not what you made yourself out to be for much longer than that, but I did not put the pieces together until that night.”

 

“I hid what I was, but trust me when I tell you I never lied about what I felt.” Her gaze fell.

 

“I know.” She whispered, and it broke his heart to hear the pain bleeding into her voice. He loved her, but that didn't make it easier... it never had. “I don't want to love you.” Her voice shook with the confession, and her eyes shone with unshed tears.

 

“I know.” He said quietly, heart aching at her words. “I tried to push you away, but I am a weak man, vhenan. I could never keep away from you... not in all the of the lifetimes I knew you.” Her gaze was steady and unflinching, and he saw no surprise lingering there.

 

He turned away, took a step, clasped his hands behind his back as he conjured the memories. “You told me once something your Keeper had said... that life is a tapestry, and each life a single thread. There are threads that are destined never to meet, some that briefly intersect, and others that are hopelessly intertwined. No matter the new patterns that emerge in the cloth, those threads will meet.”

 

He took a deep breath, trying to calm the wild beating of his heart. “You are a rare and marvelous spirit. You are unique. Words I have spoken to you that have never been a lie. You asked me of past loves, but I never gave you an answer, did I?” He turned back to her, eyes roaming over her face as though he would never see it again, memorizing every detail. “There were no past loves... it was always you.” He saw her swallow, following the motion with his gaze, the only indication she gave of her emotions.

 

“The first time I met you, my breath was stolen. You were a handmaiden of Ghilan'nain then, a jewel in her entourage that put even her to shame.” A nostalgic smile pulled at his lips as he swallowed past the lump in his throat. “You thought me a fool when I first sought to court you, and I was. You told me my pride would be my downfall.” He looked away again. “You took an arrow meant for me in that life, many years later, and I watched my vhenan die as I held her in my arms.”

 

“The second time I met you, I could scarcely believe my eyes. Surely, demons were trying to trick me... to cloud my thoughts and distract me from my purpose. It was after I had raised the Veil, after my first long sleep, and you were a slave in the Imperium... forced to do the bidding of vile men.” He clenched his eyes shut. “I refused to believe it was you, but as I lay bleeding in an alleyway too weak to mend myself, you found me and I knew. I tried to free you but your master found out. He left your broken body on the steps as a warning to those who dared defy him.”

 

“The third, you were a leader of a rebellion, beautiful and deadly. You found me in the ruins of one of my temples, searching for artifacts that would aid me on my quest. You were taken two years later by an illness that could not be cured.”

 

“I began to search for ways to avoid you as time passed, but you always managed to find me... and so I tried to keep you away, to force you back, but I could never resist you... and it hurt me more to break your heart than it did to see you die. I went back to sleep, resolute in my plan for the future, and I failed horribly... a dire miscalculation that threw my plans into disarray, and then you found me once again... and as I stood atop those stairs in Haven, I knew you would never be free of me, nor I of you.”

 

He spun on her closing the distance between them in three long strides, taking her face into his hands. Her cheeks were wet, and she closed her eyes, melting into his touch despite her struggle not to. “What cruelty is this, that I must love and lose you in a thousand lifetimes? Am I to endure an eternity of suffering as repayment for my transgressions? Must fate continue to harm you? You deserve happiness, and yet you cannot escape.” His impassioned cry summoned forth the emotions she had been trying to hold back, and she fixed her steady gaze on him, eyes hard and unforgiving even as her tears flowed freely.

 

“It is your curse. You will fan the flames of rebellion as you always have, stubborn and proud and stupid, and I will love you. You will lie and break my heart and in every lifetime _I will love you_. I will stand by, helpless to watch as you bring our world to ash and ruin because of your _pride._ I will watch the innocents suffer and die screaming, and I will hate you, and I will love you all the same.” She pulled his hands away, her voice rising and echoing in the air around them, sending it thrumming with magic. “I will watch my greatest fear come true, time after time as you _betray me_ and I will _still love you_. _That_ is _my_ curse. I am doomed to love you, even when I desperately wish I didn't.”

 

The words hung heavy in the air around them and he took a shuddering breath, the pain clutching at his heart with shredding talons, ripping into him and reminding him keenly of the agony he was destined to face... to cause... to suffer. He forced himself away from her, knowing that any comfort he offered would seem hollow.

 

“Why have you come?” He asked, his voice sounding strange in his ears.

 

“I know you have agents watching us in the Winter Palace. You have a hand in stopping this qunari invasion, though the reasoning is beyond me when you plan to destroy our world regardless. The reason is not important.” She shook her head, reaching out and taking his arm, pulling him around to face her.

 

“The anchor is killing her. I have done all I can.” She whispered. “It is because of you that she bears this burden... has borne the burden of these last four years.”

 

“Have you told her?”

 

“It is not my tale to tell. It is your betrayal, your lie, and you must choose whether you swallow your pride and confess to the woman who once called you friend. But, _Creators_ , Solas, give her peace. Take this from her. She deserves that at the very least, after all she has suffered at your hands, even indirectly.” Her gaze was pleading, and he felt a stab of guilt.

 

“Very well.” He said on an exhale, eyes following her as she stepped away.

 

“Ar lath ma.” She whispered brokenly, suppressing a sob. “May we never meet again, Dread Wolf.” The anguish in her eyes before she vanished was seared into his memory. He fell to his knees, the pain feeling as though it would tear him apart... and he wept.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You may find me at my [tumblr](http://silent-of-spirit.tumblr.com/), where you can also prompt me or strike up a friendly chat :) I love talking to people, don't be shy <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! More prompts always to come.


	15. DWC: Don't Make that Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Venalya are too cute. Also modern AU.

She looked adorable like this, he decided as he glanced at his fiancee. She was sprawled on the couch with her legs in his lap, reading a book while he watched the game. He head was leaned back against the arm, wild curls thrown over the side of it in disarray to keep it out of her face. A smile pulled at his lips as their dog- Fang, as named by Venalya- sat pointedly on the floor right next to her. She absently reached over to pat his head twice before returning to her book, met with a quiet 'borf' by the mabari. She sighed and placed the open book down on her chest, looking over to Fang with a raised brow.

 

“Can I help you?” Fang bounced up and wagged his entire back end with excitement, tongue lolling out of his mouth comically. Cullen chuckled, catching her sideways look before she sighed again. “Right, go get your ball then.” She said in resignation, smiling a little as the dog barked and tore off through the house. She sat up slightly, picking up the book and marking her page before setting it on the side-table. She fixed her violet gaze on him, raising a brow when she saw him already looking at her. She rubbed her bare calf up the flat planes of his stomach, bunching the fabric of his shirt. “How's the game?” She asked lightly.

 

He glanced back to the television for a moment. “Uh, good. Garrett's team is winning, I think.” She smirked.

 

“You think? Have you not been watching?” Cullen flushed and he averted his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck as he chuckled softly.

 

“I may have been distracted.” Her smile grew and she withdrew her legs from his lap, instead crawling to where he sat and placing a thigh on either side of his.

 

“Distracted?” She asked sweetly, voice dripping with honey. He cleared his throat and looked up at her, cheeks still flushed. “Don't give me that face.” She said with a grin, leaning in slightly. “It's so cute I might not be able to hold back.”

 

“Who said you should?” His voice was husky, his eyes darkening as he slid his hands up her legs. She grinned and leaned in, brushing her nose against his as her lips hovered over his. She pulled back slightly when he moved to kiss her. “Oh you want to tease?” She giggled slightly and bit her lip, fluttering her eyelashes at him coyly. “Fine.” He leaned back, watching her expression melt into confusion. He almost couldn't fight his smirk.

 

“Wha-” Her words were interrupted by a gasp of surprise as he turned them and flipped her onto her back. She looked at him wide-eyed, legs wrapped firmly around his hips, her lips slightly parted. He grinned in victory and leaned down to claim his prize, deftly capturing her mouth. She responded instantly, one hand clutching his shoulder, and the other snaking up into his hair to tug him closer. She used her leverage to push her hips into his and he groaned. He ran a hand up her hip, sliding it underneath the flimsy shirt she wore.

 

_'Borf.'_

 

He ignored the dog, breaking free from her lips and kissing along her jaw as she sighed sweetly.

 

_'Borf.'_

 

There was a puff of hot breath on his cheek, and then he was met with a slobbering tongue, making sure to coat every inch of his exposed face with smelly saliva. Venalya dissolved into laughter beneath him as he shoved Fang away, wiping at his face in disgust as he sat up. Fang barked and wagged his tail excitedly, jumping in circles around the leash and ball he had discarded beside the couch. Venalya was still laughing, wiping away tears as she pushed herself up.

 

“Cock-blocked by a dog.” She said breathlessly, trying not to laugh again. “Poor Cully-wully.” He rolled his eyes as she stood and bent over, grabbing the ball and leash. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, looking back to him as she slipped on her flip-flops. “You should finish the game. I'll tire Fang out, don't worry.” She winked and stepped outside, closing the door soundly behind her.

 

He still couldn't tell her later who won.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You may find me at my [tumblr](http://silent-of-spirit.tumblr.com/), where you can also prompt me or strike up a friendly chat :) I love talking to people, don't be shy <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! More prompts always to come.


	16. DWC: You shouldn't have said that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Aluriel have a discussion. Takes place after the chapter 'Grey Wardens'.

Solas sat in his chair, quietly letting Aluriel tend to his injured cheek. She was even more silent than usual, and she wouldn't even look him in the eye, her mask of cool indifference in place. That was the mask she used for everyone _else_ , and that stung more than the wound on his face. He swallowed and looked down at his clasped hands.

 

“Vhenan-”

 

“You shouldn't have said that.” She said softly, eyes still firmly fixed on her work as she used her magic to knit together the bone and skin. “Any of it, but especially the bit about Ellania.”

 

 _I was angry._ “I know.” He replied instead.

 

The magic faded for a moment as she took a deep breath to steady herself before it resumed. “Then why did you?”

 

“I've never had good impulse control.” He said dryly, closing his eyes. _You are a prime example of my skill at 'restraint', vhenan._

 

 _So is the Veil._ The snarky voice in his mind supplied.

 

“She wasn't only important to Liahra, you know.” Aluriel spoke again after several minutes of silence. “By speaking so carelessly you have also hurt her sister. You've hurt Leliana.” She paused, the magic fading again as she looked him in the eye for the first time since she entered the rotunda. “You've hurt me.” He closed his eyes as pain lanced through his heart. He felt himself flush with shame and guilt.

 

 _It won't be the last time._ He tried to shut out the voice in his head. “I'm sorry.” He whispered hoarsely. She began to tend to his cheek again.

 

“I'm not the one you need to apologize to.” The pain in his cheek finally began to ebb away. “Liahra has been through so much already. Ellania's death destroyed her in a way you will never understand.”

 

_But I do. If only you knew how much I understand, vhenan._

 

“To speak to her that way, after everything she has done, after everything she continues to do in a world that despises her solely because of her heritage? An apology is the least you owe her.”

 

“You're right.” _She always is. She always has been._

 

The magic faded again and she reached down into the bucket of water she had brought with her, wringing a cloth and bringing it to his face, wiping gently at the dried blood.

 

“Vhenan.” He said gently. Her eyes flicked to his and he raised his hand to her cheek, cupping it tenderly as he leaned his forehead against hers. “Please forgive me.” _It won't change anything. You still don't deserve her._

 

“Solas...” She sighed, lowering the rag back into the bucket. “I already have.”

 

“Ar lath ma.” He whispered shakily. She met his lips with hers, the kiss gentle and tender.

 

“Ar lath ma.” She replied, brushing his now healed cheek with her lips before pulling away and rising, bucket in hand. “But so help me, vhenan, hurt her again and I won't be able to find it in my heart to forgive you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You may find me at my [tumblr](http://silent-of-spirit.tumblr.com/), where you can also prompt me or strike up a friendly chat :) I love talking to people, don't be shy <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! More prompts always to come.


	17. You need a hug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is harder than she would like to admit. Bull just wants to help. Takes place after the chapter 'Basorexia'.

She had not taken it well, seeing the ritual. The look in her eyes after the battle couldn't be shaken from his mind. She had gone to the piles of discarded bodies and held each of them in her arms, speaking in soft elvhen as she held back her tears. When she began to dig, they had all followed without question, even Hawke.

 

 _I will not leave them to bake in the sun._ She had said. _They deserve better._

 

It had only started to get dark when the last grave was complete. She sent them away to prepare the camp while she finished, but Bull hung back, watched, waited. He knew she shouldn't be alone. She stood and pulled herself out of the last grave, steps slowing as she reached the final body. She made a strangled sound in her throat, fell to her knees.

 

“I'm so sorry.” Her broken whisper was carried to him on the wind, and his heart wrenched as she bowed her head over the warden. He could see her shoulders shaking as she sobbed, burying her face in her hands. She shook her head and pulled the body into her arms, cradling it against her. “I'm so sorry.” He heard again. “I'm so sorry.” She rocked it back and forth, and he had to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat when she pushed the hair from its face. It was just a kid, couldn't have been more than 18, jaw slack and eyes glassy. He knew she blamed herself.

 

He kicked a small rock with his boot, making sure it skittered over the nearby stone. He saw her stiffen and allowed her the time she needed to collect herself, to replace her mask. “Boss.” He greeted her as he took a step forward.

 

“Ah, Bull, I was almost done.” She said evenly, tossing a thin smile over her shoulder as she hefted the warden into her arms and rose. He shot her a dry look, and she knew then that he wasn't falling for it. Her smile faded and she averted her eyes, cradling the boy in her arms as she carried him the short distance to the open grave in the sand. She lowered him carefully, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill. She needed to be strong. She could feel him more than see him, standing off in the shadows, just watching. He would let her speak in her own time, she knew. He didn't press, never had, and it was one of the things she liked most about him. He just... let her take the time she needed.

 

She began to push the excess dirt over the warden, arms and body already aching with the exertion of the day, but there he was. He helped to cover the boy, placing a Warden crest in the center of the mound, just as they had done with the rest. He was crouched in the dirt directly across from her, and she could feel his steady gaze. Her own was locked on that crest, the knowledge of what had transpired locked in her memory, yet another failure.

 

“He got away.” She said after some time, clenching and unclenching her left hand. The mark still stung from when the bastard had taken control of it. She hadn't been quick enough, resorting to diplomacy instead of outright killing him, and now more would die because of her lapse in judgment. She should have put an arrow through his skull the instant she was within sight, but she had hoped to reason with the Wardens. If she had gotten there sooner... maybe their minds wouldn't have yet been controlled. If only she...

 

“Hey.” Bull said quietly, and it drew her from her reveries. She looked at him and swallowed. She knew that look in his eye. It meant he was reading her like a book, and no matter how hard she tried she wouldn't be able to hide from him. But when had she ever been able to? He was the only one she had consistently _not_ been able to fool. He rose, stepping away from the graves and the dim firelight of their camp just over the hill. She watched him, pushing herself to her feet when he looked back at her expectantly. “Come here.” He said, opening his arms in invitation. She looked at him for a moment, eyes searching his face for answers. “You look like you need a hug.” He said simply, shrugging. “I happen to give pretty damn good ones.” He smiled disarmingly, arms still open wide.

 

She gave him a small smile even as her eyes filled with tears, and stepped into his embrace. He was warm and solid, and as his arms encircled her, she never felt more safe. He held her tightly, one hand rubbing her back in soothing circles, the other stroking her hair despite the sand and grit that she was sure filled it. She tried to breathe deeply, to hold back the encroaching tears. She couldn't break down in front of him of all people.

 

“You can't save them all.” He whispered, the motions of his hands soothing and warm.

 

“That doesn't make it any easier.” She managed to say through the tightness in her throat. She buried her face in his skin, wrapping her arms around him tightly. He held her closer in response, and she could hear his heartbeat thrumming dully.

 

“I know.” Came the quiet response, rumbling through his chest. “But it wasn't your fault.”

 

She said nothing, but let him hold her until her heart didn't ache quite so much. His presence was a balm for her frayed nerves, and being ensconced in his arms offered more comfort than she could describe. When she pulled away, her gaze drifted to his face and her hand came up to rest over his heart of its own accord. He gave her a strange look, and just as she was about to pull away, his hand covered hers, large and warm and strong.

 

“Thank you, Bull.” She whispered, eyes shining with unshed tears. The corner of his mouth quirked up, and his hand brushed her cheek, thumb grazing gently over the healing cut from the day before. She closed her eyes and leaned into the caress.

 

“Anytime, Liahra.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You may find me at my [tumblr](http://silent-of-spirit.tumblr.com/), where you can also prompt me or strike up a friendly chat :) I love talking to people, don't be shy <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! More prompts always to come.


	18. Lyric Prompt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair remembers. Angst ahoy.

_**Please tell me you know...** _

 

His every thought was plagued by her... waking, dreaming, drowning out all but the Calling in his mind. Even now, even here, her memory was persistent and painful, and yet a blessed reprieve from the nightmares the Calling had conjured. He could almost feel her touch again, the brightness of her green eyes seared into his mind, the warmth of her smile and laughter imprinted on his heart. He still loved her more than life, even after these ten years, no matter how he tried to move on.

 

As he sat alone in the dripping cave, the bodies of the smugglers disposed of, he closed his eyes and remembered her. He remembered the first time he saw her, striding up to him in Ostagar, purpose in her steps. She was so young... they both were, but she had joked and smiled and stolen his heart in a matter of moments, and he remembered wondering how someone so bright could hold such pain in their eyes.

 

And he remembered the last time he saw her... body limp and bloody as he held her in his arms, the grief too much to endure, and yet somehow he had. The Archdemon was dead, they were heroes, but all he could see were her eyes, those beautiful bright green eyes glossed with death and staring at nothing. He died that day as he held her on those battlements... it had just taken ten years to catch up with him it seemed.

 

But he remembered all of the in-between times as well... the laughter, the love, the stolen moments and silly jokes. He remembered her light, how she drew people to her like a beacon, and how many loved her. And as Liahra walked into his cave with Hawke, he remembered returning her to her clan, how young Liahra was then, and how they had bonded over the grief they shared. And now here she was, another memory, but made flesh and standing before him in shock.

 

They spoke of her often... the only ones who understood the grief still present after so long, still so heavy on their hearts. And _oh_ he still loved her with a fire that consumed him.

 

_Please tell me you know that I am lost. That you are always with me. That I cannot banish you. Please tell me you know that I love you still, and I will even long past my dying breath. Please tell me you know._

 

_**I've got to let you go...** _

 

The Calling was deafening in Adamant, and he tried to drown it with her. He tried to think of her face, her smile, her laugh, her touch. He tried to remember the songs she played on her violin around the fire as she danced, entrancing and intoxicating. He moved on instinct, cleaving demons in two as the Inquisitor made for the central courtyard to stop the ritual. He followed only when the coast was clear, glad that Ellania had not lived to see what the Wardens had become.

 

He wanted to scream, to rage and kill and tear the Archdemon to shreds. Had the Blight not taken enough? What more could he give? And he did not look upon the Warden Commander with pity, but with fury. This was not how it should be. This is not how she would have wanted it. They could have found another way.

 

He could feel her watching him, smiling that fond little exasperated smile she saved just for him. He remembered her lips, the sweet honeyed nectar that was her, addicting and satisfying. He remembered how she felt in his arms, and how she fit as if she'd belonged there. She had.

 

The Nightmare didn't scare him, not really. He knew what it would show him... the images that he had already tortured himself with for the last ten years. There was no fear in them any longer, only resignation. He could not change the past, and the Nightmare could not feed on emptiness. But he saw her everywhere in that realm. He could almost reach out and touch her... she was so real. He knew she was not, and he refrained, his already shattered heart cracking more with every step he took away from the illusions of her.

 

He had tried to let her go. He had tried to move on, to love, to live, but her death had broken something in him that nothing could fix. Every attempt at something better felt empty, hollow, and he would not let himself hurt another by being unable to return their love. He had tried. As they stared the monstrous demon in the face, he felt no fear, the Calling in his mind absent. He saw only her, reaching for him with a blissful smile on her face. He knew even if they survived this ordeal and killed Corypheus that his Calling would not cease. It had started before the others. A truth he had to face.

 

He argued with Hawke, called her a fool for wanting to stay, demanded she and Liahra leave and let him cover their escape. When he looked to Liahra, he saw her heart breaking again, shaking her head as the tears fell. She couldn't make this choice.

 

“We will find another way!” She screamed. “I will not allow either of you to sacrifice yourselves for this. I will fight it myself! Go! That's an order!”

 

He stepped forward and pulled her close, hugging her tightly to him as he moved his mouth beside her ear.

 

“I am already dead. The Calling has made itself known, Liahra.” She shook her head, sobbing into his shoulder. He took her face in his hands, made her look at him as he wiped her tears away with gentle fingers.

 

“I would see her again.” He whispered brokenly and he watched her face contort in pain. She clenched her eyes shut and swallowed as he leaned down to kiss her tenderly on her forehead. When he pulled away her eyes were upon him, acceptance and sorrow plain to see.

 

“Tell her I said hello.” She gasped, shoving Hawke toward the rift. He didn't have to look over his shoulder to know she was watching him go as long as she could. He drew his sword and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He charged, slashing at the creature with rage and determination. He heard distant yelling, Hawke's voice, and then he heard the rift snap shut.

 

Ellania was still smiling at him, and even as he hacked at the demon before him, all he saw was her.

 

_I've got to let you go... but I can't._

 


	19. Capernoited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian is happy. Because he deserves that dammit.

The Herald's Rest had been cleared of patrons for the evening, host instead to Liahra's small Wintersend gathering. She had insisted upon having a small party for her advisors and those in her inner circle, _to celebrate with those whom I am most thankful for,_ she had told them with a bright smile. The casks of expensive wine and mead had been brought up from the cellars and Liahra had paid Cabot handsomely for them.

 

She was currently absolutely drunk, stumbling along in an impromptu dance that she had dragged Bull into. He was laughing uproariously at her antics, the others around looking on with smiles and laughter of their own. Her mirth was infectious, drawing a smile even from Dorian where he sat at the bar, wineglass in hand. It was so good to see her let loose and have some fun. Goodness knows she didn't get nearly enough of it.

 

“Hey.” Dorian turned to the source of the gruff voice, raising his brows as Cabot shoved a large purse of coin across the bar top to him. “Make sure that gets back to the Inquisitor, will ya?” The corner of Dorian's mouth pulled up as the dwarf busied himself with cleaning cups. He huffed when he noticed Dorian's lingering gaze. “She doesn't need to pay me for the booze tonight. It's nice to see her let go of that mantle of hers for a bit, besides that saving the world and all she's doing. If she takes issue, tell her it's my Wintersend gift to her.”

 

“Well, that's good of you.” Dorian said with a smirk, raising his glass to the barkeep as he tucked the purse away into a pocket. Cabot rolled his eyes and strode into the back room, muttering to himself. Dorian chuckled as he turned back to watch his friends.

 

 _Friends._ He felt warm and light, his mind buzzing slightly with the potency of the wine, and a silly little grin lit up his face. He took another sip, taking in the smiling faces and animated conversations. Maybe it was the wine, but he felt content and at ease. Bull spun Liahra and she saw him sitting at the bar, face lighting up with glee as she pulled away from her lover and stumbled toward Dorian.

 

“Why are you all alone?” She grinned, her head lolling to the side.

 

“Just watching, pet.” He replied with a chuckle, taking another drink.

 

“Hm, come dance with me!” She grabbed his free hand and tugged gently, urging him off of the stool. He set his wineglass aside and groaned theatrically, smiling at her snort of amusement. “Never have I met someone as fond of dramatics as you.” He laughed outright, the wine and the atmosphere making him giddy. He spun her into a dance, much more collected than she was, and felt an odd feeling overtake him as he swept her through the movements and saw the faces of his friends. It was warm and rich and comforting, and he didn't quite know what it was.

 

_The wine, more than likely._

 

“It's so nice to see you smiling so much.” Came Liahra's voice from where she settled her chin on his chest looking up at him. He raised a brow.

 

“Well, being tipsy helps matters.” He replied flippantly. She swatted him playfully.

 

“No, it's a different smile.”

 

“Oh, I see. How very helpful.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head slightly but let it be, resting her cheek against him as they continued dancing.

 

“Hey, Dorian?” She said quietly. He hummed in response. “You're my best friend. I hope you know that. I'm thankful for you.” He was overcome with that strange emotion again, this time accompanied by the slight tug of tears wanting to fall at her admission. He smiled.

 

_Just the wine._

 

And yet, he had never felt so at ease. She had accepted him without question, they all had, and for the first time in his life he felt like he _belonged_ and it was such a strange thing. Here was a group of people who cared about him and encouraged him. People who actually enjoyed his company and sought him out so they could have it. He had learned and grown and fallen in love and he felt like he was _home._

 

There was a hand that appeared in his field of vision, tapping Liahra on the shoulder. She looked up and grinned. “Mind if I cut in?” The deep voice asked, and Dorian smiled. Liahra pulled away with a wink, allowing Westley to step into her place as she sought out Bull.

 

“Amatus.” Dorian greeted warmly. Westley laughed.

 

“You have this look on your face. What's up?” He looked thoughtful for a moment, seeming to consider his answer before it dawned on him.

 

“I'm happy.” Westley raised an eyebrow and smirked.

 

“You sure you're not just drunk?” He asked in jest. Dorian scoffed, that smile still on his face.

 

“Well, that too. But I am happy. _Really_ happy.”

 

Westley got a strange look in his eyes that tugged at his heart before he pulled him close and leaned in to kiss him. He smiled against his lips as their friends cheered around them, and they broke apart, laughing at the lewd suggestions from Varric and Sera. Westley leaned his forehead against Dorian's.

 

“Happy Wintersend, Dorian.” He said softly, running his hands up his arms with a smile.

 

“Happy Wintersend, Amatus.”

 

_Happy. What a strange feeling._

 


	20. DWC: I'm not jealous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aluriel and Solas have yet another discussion. Angst. Because I evidently don't know how to write these two without angst. Fluff is coming I promise. Someday.

When the wearied elves had walked through the gates of Skyhold, worn and bloodied, he hadn't expected to feel anything. He had no connection to them, did not care for their woes, did not know them, but when the Inquisitor and Aluriel and Venalya rushed to the gates, he felt his heart twinge.

 

The last of Clan Lavellan.

 

There were so few of them left... seven at most, two of them gravely injured. They all wept as they embraced, and he watched Aluriel push through them to the ones who were injured, barking orders. She gestured across the courtyard, and they were carried off, led by the Inquisitor to the infirmary. Venalya followed close on their heels, holding the hand of one of the injured elves tenderly.

 

Aluriel made to follow, but her wrist was grabbed by one of the elves standing at the gate. He was tall and broad, with long, dark hair and the markings of Elgar'nan tattooed into his skin. Solas saw his lips move, unable to catch the words, but the look on the man's face betrayed plenty. He looked upon Aluriel as though she were a goddess, bringing her knuckles to his lips. She pulled him close, wrapping her arms around him in a warm embrace, and when she pulled away she took his face in her hands and smiled, eyes full of tears. Solas scowled and turned away, striding from the battlements back into the rotunda.

 

He shouldn't be surprised, he tried to reason with himself. Was this not what he wanted for her? In all of the lifetimes he knew her, did he not want her to find happiness with another instead of the torture that he offered instead? So then _why_ did seeing that man bother him so? He should be more concerned about her feelings, seeing the last pieces of her clan hobble through the gates back into her arms. He should be seeking her out to comfort her, knowing that this probably shattered her heart more than hearing they were gone. This was proof. This was _real_.

 

 _Selfish._ He chided himself, bracing himself on his desk and taking a steadying breath.

 

“Dorian!” He called out, trying to reign in his irritation with himself, with that man, with the situation. Dorian appeared over the railing, brows raised in surprise. “You'll want to see to Liahra, I'm sure.” Solas watched the man's brow knit together in concern, then he was gone. The sound of the door to the stairs slamming shut echoed dully through the tower. Solas took a deep breath, pushing himself off of his desk as he headed to the infirmary.

 

He hadn't realize how long he had wallowed in his melancholy, the darkening sky startling him when he stepped outside. He clasped his hands behind his back and set off across the courtyard, the hour late enough that even Cassandra was not assaulting the dummies in the training yard. He fingered the small vial of lyrium in his palm as he walked, stopping short as he rounded the corner of the tavern.

 

She was seated on the bench just outside of the infirmary, eyes closed as she leaned back heavily against the wall. Her open hands lay still in her lap, palms up and covered in blood. There was a smear on her cheek as well, wispy strands of her hair sticking to her sweat-slicked skin. She looked exhausted. Solas swallowed thickly. They must have been more injured than he could tell at first glance. He went to step forward, but stopped when the infirmary door opened and the man from earlier stepped out, looking around as he wiped his hands on a damp rag.

 

“Lulu?” He asked tentatively, stepping toward her. She opened her eyes slowly, as though it took great effort to do so, but still managed to summon a small smile.

 

“Kaye.” She said softly. “How is Dayna?”

 

“She and the baby are fine, thanks to your timely intervention. Her leg is set, the wound closed nicely, and the baby has been washed and is currently in her mother's arms.” She nodded at his words, eyes seeming far off and sad. “Lulu?” He said again. She turned her head to face him. “Are you alright? I know this must be hard for you.” She said nothing but smiled a little. He lowered himself onto the bench next to her, taking on of her hands in his own, bloodied though they were. Solas' breath quickened, his heart thudding painfully in his chest.

 

“I'm alright, just-” She trailed off as Solas stepped into view, cool and collected. He walked toward them, bowing his head slightly.

 

“Pardon my intrusion. I came to offer what assistance I could, vhenan.” He said pointedly, offering her the vial of lyrium and rolling up his sleeves. Kaye's eyebrows shot into his hairline as he looked between them. Aluriel merely nodded her thanks, downing the contents of the bottle in one swallow.

 

“Solas, I presume?” Kaye said, a small grin on his face. He stood to greet him properly, offering his hand in the greeting he knew most humans and flat-ears used. Solas stood tall and proud, eyeing the man's hand with a raised brow and a cold look. Kaye cleared his throat awkwardly and lowered it. “Right, well, I'll just go back inside and check on Dayna, shall I?” He retreated inside the building, and Solas tried to ignore the dry look Aluriel shot him.

 

“There's nothing to be jealous of.” She said gently as she reached for the damp rag left behind.

 

“I'm not jealous.” She huffed in tired amusement at that, cleaning the dried blood from her hands. “I'm not.” He insisted.

 

“You are, and it's nothing to be ashamed of, _vhenan_.” She stretched the endearment, the word sounding sultry in her tired state. He raised his chin stubbornly and she let out a little breathless laugh. “You are impossible.”

 

“Are you alright?” He asked suddenly, eager for a change of topic. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it again, taking a shuddering breath. He closed the distance between them, pulling her into his arms as she clutched at his tunic. She allowed herself to weep, burying her face in the soft fabric as she clung to him. He held her all the while, murmuring softly in Elvhen.

 

“We lost Maeral.” She whispered after some time. “His wounds were too grave for me to heal in time. We nearly lost Dayna and the baby too. She had lost so much blood, I feared we would not be able to save the child. But she delivered. A healthy girl.” She took a deep breath. “I knew that the loss of our clan was real, but it hadn't touched me yet. It didn't _feel_ real until they showed up at the gates.” A choked sob escaped her throat. “They're gone.”

 

Solas closed his eyes against the rush of emotion. He had no advice to offer, and so he merely held her as she broke in his arms, beating back the voices in his mind that reminded him that she had more suffering to come. He was angry with himself for his jealousy and selfishness, and he admonished himself harshly. That was the last thing she needed.

 

“You don't have to worry about Kaye.” She said some time later. “Dayna is his, the baby his as well.” There was something almost bitter that lingered under the surface of her words and he looked at her carefully. She sighed. “I loved him, once. He loved me too. Still does, in fact.” She closed her eyes against the memories. “I was with child. His. I had always wanted to be a mother, but it wasn't to be.” He pulled her closer, arms tightening around her. “When I lost the baby, I couldn't look at him the same anymore. We drifted apart.” She pulled back, stroking Solas' cheek tenderly. “You have nothing to worry about. He has moved on, and so have I. _You_ are my vhenan.”

 

He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “I'm not jealous.” She smiled.

 

_Fool._

 


	21. DWC: I could just kiss you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull gets Liahra a present.

She was _adorable_. Liahra hugged the little fox kit close, cooing at it. Her little leg had a splint to help the break heal, wrapped tightly with plaidweave that stood out in stark contrast to the bright red fur. Liahra was positively delighted, and Bull looked on with amusement as she doted on the creature.

 

“What will you name her?” He asked, chuckling as her eyes lit up at the question. She held the fox up to eye level, pressing her nose against it's with a beaming smile.

 

“Ellania.” She said softly, the smile only slightly tempered by sadness. The kit made a strange barking noise, squirming in Liahra's hands as she licked her face excitedly. Bull burst into laughter the same moment Liahra did, falling back into the dirt as the kit bombarded her face with kisses.

 

“Something tells me she likes it, Boss.” Bull said after his laughter had receded. He couldn't shake the smile on his face at the sight of such unbridled joy on hers, and she agreed heartily, cuddling it close.

 

“Oh, Bull, I could just kiss you right now! Thank you!” She squealed, jumping to her feet with the kit in tow. She threw her free arm around him, and he raised his brow in surprise, a soft chuckle rumbling through his chest before he returned the gesture.

 

“Won't find me complaining.” He said saucily, grinning at the shade of pink that immediately flushed her cheeks when she pulled away.

 


	22. DWC: You're full of shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrett finally finds out how Isabela and Varric were cheating. With help.

_Maker's breath._ Garrett thought irritably, glaring at the darkened corner his sister had disappeared to with Fenris and Anders. She left him here to deal with Isabela and Varric's wild tales and cheating asses. He _hated_ playing Wicked Grace with them. Worst part was that he could never actually _prove_ they were cheating, so he kept betting to catch them and always ended up having his pockets swept clean by the end of the night.

 

“Ha, looks like I take the pot again.” Isabela crowed in victory, raking the winnings toward her seat. Garrett groaned and buried his face in his hands.

 

“Serah Hawke?” He heard a tentative voice ask from beside him. He didn't move his hands.

 

“Serah Hawke is my sister.” He said, voice muffled. “I'm just Garrett. Garrett who is losing all of his coin to these swindlers here.” There was a small giggle then and he peeked between his fingers at the elven girl. She had bright red curls that fell to her shoulders, warm honey eyes, and, most importantly, a full flagon of mead that she held out to him.

 

“Courtesy of your sister, then.” She said with a bright smile. “She said she was just Marian and _you_ were Serah Hawke.”

 

“'Course she did.” He grumbled. “I'm not surprised. Thank you.” He said as he took the flagon from her. She nodded and smiled again, eyes sparkling as she nearly skipped back to the kitchens. He watched her go with a puzzled look. Varric laughed from across the table.

 

“That's Honey. Her real name is Brionna, but she's sweet as can be and has the eyes to match. The name stuck.” Varric flashed a predatory grin. “Now you ready to lose some more coin, or what?”

 

“You know what?” Garrett took a large swig from the fresh tankard, setting it back on the table a tad too harshly. “Go for it. I think I've figured out your tells, you two.” They both laughed uproariously at that, and Varric dealt the cards while Isabela fluttered her eyelashes.

 

“We're just good, sweetheart. No tells required.”

 

Another three hands later, and Garrett was regretting his decision... as usual. He pushed himself from the table and their victorious smirks, waving his empty tankard as an excuse. He set it on the bartop and sank onto the stool with a sigh.

 

“They're cheating.” The girl from before piped up, eyes sparkling with amusement and a playful smile on her lips. She filled his tankard for him.

 

“I know that.”

 

“You just can't figure out how?” She asked cheekily, giggling at his glare. She leaned in close over the bartop, sliding him his drink. “Isabela hides the cards in the band on her left thigh, just under her dress. She uses her cleavage as a distraction when she reaches for them. Varric tucks his up his sleeve. There's a reason he always wears his jacket for cards, despite the heat in here.” She winked and pushed back off of the bar, tending to the other patrons.

 

He stared after her, mouth agape, before taking up his tankard and swallowing some of the amber liquid. He slid off of the stool and sauntered back to the table, interrupting Varric and Isabela's conversation with the clinking of silver pieces on worn wood. They exchanged a look and smirked.

 

“You must be drunk if you're coming back for more, sweets.” Isabela purred, reaching for the coin. Garrett covered it.

 

“One condition.” He said, holding a finger up. “If I figure out _how_ you're winning, I take all of the winnings from the night.” Varric chuckled and Isabela raised a brow, looking him over with pitied amusement.

 

“Deal. Wait till your sister hears this one.” Varric laughed, passing the deck to Isabela to deal. Garrett watched them both carefully, grinning when he caught Varric's sly exchange of cards. Isabela leaned forward with a grin, as she did often, he now realized, her hand disappearing below the table as she tried to distract him with her wiles.

 

Was her name Honey? Brionna? Whatever it was, she was smart. “More for you, Master Tethras?” Speak of the devil...

 

“Thanks, Honey.” He said with a disarming grin. She returned it with a bright one of her own, gaze flicking to Garrett and his smug smirk.

 

“You know,” He said conversationally, pretending to peruse his cards. “I just did some calculations, and I've been able to determine that you're both full of shit.”

 

Varric burst into laughter, clutching his stomach while Isabela just looked slightly bewildered.

 

“Do tell.”

 

“Varric, you hide the cards in your sleeve. You laugh or cough when going for them to cover the motion.”

 

“Well, shit.” Varric said in good humor, beginning to count the coin out that he owed back.

 

“Bela.” Garrett said with a smirk at her narrowed eyes. “Distracting and glorious though your rack is, I caught you this time. Left thigh.”

 

“No way!” She said, uttering a little laugh of disbelief.

 

“Way.” He said, completely deadpan, holding out his hand for the owed coin. Brionna came around and refilled his tankard, chuckling softly to herself. “Thank you, Honey.” He said with a grin, watching her go from the corner of his eye.

 

“Anytime, Serah.” She said sweetly and curtsied, smiling at their little secret.

 

“Marian!” Isabela called out over the din of the tavern. “Your brother isn't allowed to play with us anymore.” She wandered away. “Marian? What are you three up to? Can I join?”

 

Varric laughed and watched Garrett, smiling absently over his mug. “Nice one, Hawke. Now imagine what secrets you'd uncover if you flirted with the girl?” He spluttered for a moment, brow drawing together. “Oh please. She's the only one who serves Bela and me regularly. I know she told you.” Varric grinned in victory at Garrett's quick attempts at denial.

 


	23. Drunk Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one may not stay here. It may end up being posted in my main story at some point, so if it disappears don't be surprised. Bull x Liahra because I am weak.

Liahra cracked her eyes open, wincing at the harsh glare of evening light that streamed through the peaks of the mountains around them. She was so tired, a painful headache blooming behind her eyes. They had gotten back from the Storm Coast as the sun was setting, and she had fallen asleep somewhere along the way. Dorian had nudged her knee as they approached Skyhold, startling her awake. It had been a rough few days for them all, Bull especially. She could still hear the alliance with the qunari go out with a noise that shook her to her core.

 

They released their mounts to the capable hands of Dennet, before she trudged to the tavern with the others close behind. She desperately needed a drink, and she would make damn sure to see Bull knock back at least three tankards of _something_. The events that transpired hit him much harder than he let on, but she knew. She remembered every word of every conversation they'd ever had, _especially_ the ones about Seheron, and her heart ached for how he must be struggling with his new title.

 

But the Chargers were safe, and she did not regret her decision. He had given her a soft thanks for that, words slurred with too much drink at the camp that night, and she knew he did not regret it either.

 

She had joined him in drink, naturally, refusing to let him indulge alone after that. Cole had been slinking about, but thankfully kept his thoughts to himself. Solas had returned to the rotunda, though not before patting Bull affectionately on the shoulder. The Chargers were all around them, laughing and drinking and making crude jokes. They instantly cheered her. Dorian was, as per usual, right next to her, drinking with them and telling outrageous stories that had them all laughing until their sides hurt. She appreciated how good he was at distractions.

 

It was much later when she had reached for her tankard and found it empty, her head swimming. Everyone else had long since retired, even Cabot, and it was just she, Bull, and Dorian remaining. She squinted at her cup in displeasure, as if she could materialize more alcohol by will alone. Dorian and Bull were discussing something over her head, and she took advantage of their distraction to make a grab at Bull's half-full tankard instead. She made a little frustrated noise when it was easily lifted from her reach above his head, his eye fixed on her and brow raised in bemusement.

 

“Don't you think you've had enough?” He asked as a chuckle rumbled through his chest at the look on her face.

 

“No, no. I'm not drunk.” She said as she started to lift her feet to the seat of the chair, “I'm jusht really thirsty.” She grinned and pushed herself up on the chair, leaning forward to grab at the raised tankard again. Dorian laughed heartily behind her as she tried to reach without toppling forward into Bull. He just kept that bemused look on his face, a smirk tugging at his lips when he held it higher and she huffed.

 

“I don't think this is a battle you will win, love.” Dorian said, smiling into his own tankard as he took a large drink. Though she was usually optimistic and funny, very rarely was she silly, and he decided he needed to get her drunk more often. It was nice to see the shadows chased away from her eyes for once, as she worried about nothing but reaching that drink.

 

“Yesh I will. Just you wait.” She slurred, a huge, determined grin setting her face alight. Both Bull and Dorian laughed uproariously at that, and she gave them both stern looks. Dorian hid his smile in his drink again, pretending to be properly chastised. Bull just lifted the drink higher, smirking at her in challenge.

 

She huffed again, pouting for a moment before an idea chased it away. She giggled and reached forward instead of up, latching a hand onto one of his horns, moving her feet from her chair to his thighs. He chuckled, his free hand grabbing her thigh to steady her as she began to reach again.

 

“You really think that's gonna wo-” He began to ask before his mouth was full of soft tunic. He distantly heard Dorian's hysterical laughter, a wolf-whistle thrown in the middle. Her scent enveloped him and he absently tightened his hand on her thigh. She jerked slightly, the dip of her navel catching on his nose beneath the fabric. She squealed and jerked again, smacking the top of his head playfully.

 

“That tickles!”

 

“My, my, my this did take a turn, didn't it?” Dorian said smugly, chuckling as he watched the absurdity before him. The poor girl was oblivious, though he was sure that had something to do with the amount of drink she imbibed. She wasn't deliberately trying to tempt the Bull, but Dorian couldn't help but laugh at what a good job she was doing of it. Her usual deliberate attempts were pretty clumsy, though endearing. Bull was just too stubborn to admit he wanted her too. Dorian loved watching their dance, his main source of amusement since joining the Inquisition at Haven.

 

Liahra raised herself on her toes and Dorian almost choked on his drink at how completely and utterly still Bull got. It was as if he had become an absurdly large statue in the empty tavern. Dorian knew exactly what had caused this sudden change, and struggled to contain his fits of laughter. The poor little elf was still completely oblivious to the entire affair, and that made it so much more amusing.

 

Bull however, saw nothing amusing about this... predicament. It was very distracting, in actuality, the drink whispering to him lewd suggestions that he desperately wanted to indulge in. She was right _there_ and the alcohol was lowering his inhibition considerably.

 

Well, along with her.

 

She was rubbing along his face, completely unaware, and it was maddening. He couldn't take a breath without being assaulted by the scent of her skin and clothes, and so close, the scent of her core.

 

 _Right there._ His brain unhelpfully supplied, but he stayed as still as stone, refusing to give in. He respected her too much for that, Creators help him. That he wanted her was without question, but she was the _Inquisitor_.

 

She managed to raise herself just a little more and every thought flew out of his head at alarming speed. He held his breath and closed his eye, a mantra of 'No, no, no, no, no.” Chanting through his mind. It was unsettling how easily she threatened his self-control. Very unsettling. He could hear Dorian snickering, and he had to fight the impulse to tell the 'vint to shut his damn mouth. The muscles of her thigh slid beneath his fingers as she stretched and he wondered what it would be like to-

 

“Ha!” She crowed in victory as her warmth and scent retreated. She scrambled off of him and darted out of his reach, giggling as she drank the remnants in his tankard.

 

“You got me.” Bull said, summoning an easy smile to his lips and a deeply amused chuckle.

 

“She sure did.” Dorian said nonchalantly, winking at the qunari while a satisfied smirk settled on his features. Bull's glare did nothing to deter the mage, it only made his smile broaden.

 

There was a clatter of several chairs being knocked over, and a muffled “Fenedhis!” before hysterical laughter followed. Dorian sighed, adopting a clearly exaggerated chastising tone.

 

“You have had plenty, love. It's time for bed.” He looked down at her place on the floor where she still shook with silent laughter before whining piteously at his words. “Now, young lady!” He said, shaking his finger in a chastising way reminiscent of a scolding parent that sent her into a spasm of giggles all over again.

 

“You're barely older than me!” She managed between breaths. Bull just snorted. She was certainly amusing in this state.

 

“Doesn't matter. I'm older, so you listen to my orders, miss.” Dorian flippantly replied. Her eyebrows raised, a wolfish grin pulling at her lips. She raised herself from the floor and crawled over to Dorian's feet with feline grace. Dorian just raised his brows in amusement as he watched her. She pulled herself up his leg in a truly lewd way, eyes narrowed as she stared up at him, that smile still on her face.

 

“We are not in Tevinter, and you are not my owner, Master Pavus. Why should I be under any obligation to follow your orders?” She purred, and Bull's mouth went dry. He was vaguely aware of Dorian's penetrative gaze on his face, the expression making it known that this display was not for the 'vint's benefit. Bull watched the exchange with rapt fascination.

 

“It could be easily arranged, pet.” He responded smoothly, smiling as he took her chin in his hand, turning her face to each side as if to consider it. “But you're not my type, lovely as you are. You lack the requisite parts.” She snorted, breaking character for a moment before remembering the game and pouting in mock disappointment instead.

 

“Now, now.” He continued, patting her head reassuringly, “Don't fret. I'm sure there's _someone_ for which it could be arranged.”

 

Bull managed to maintain his composure when her eyes swept languidly over him, merely raising his brow in acknowledgment of her gaze. She smiled radiantly, blushing prettily before collapsing against Dorian's leg in a fit of giggles.

 

“Goodness.” Dorian said in fond exasperation. “Who'd have thought that our lovely Inquisitor would need _constant_ supervision if there is alcohol around? I don't understand how you could have possibly gotten this drunk when you've had the same amount as us.” An eye peeked up at them from his leg and she smiled.

 

“I'm shneaky.” She rolled the last word on her tongue, extending it for effect.

 

“Evidently.” Dorian said dryly, helping her to her feet. Bull laughed as she swayed, rising to help at Dorian's sharp look. She grabbed Bull's arm the instant he was within reach, tugging him closer so she could loop her elbow around it. She did the same with Dorian on her other side, looking ridiculously short between the two.

 

“Gentlemen.” She said simply. “It is quite dark out, and I may have had a tad too much to drink.” Both men snorted in unison at the obvious statement. “So I would be very much obliged,” Her words slurred and trailed off. Dorian patted her hand, a bemused grin on his face.

 

“We will see you safely to your quarters, love. It would be irresponsible of us not to after letting you drink so much.” He chuckled softly at her sleepy smile.

 

“So let's go!” She said jovially, tugging them forward even as she stumbled. Bull lifted his arm slightly, pulling her up with it as Dorian shook his head. She looked bewildered for a moment, turning her head to Bull, mouth open in a shocked 'o'. He raised a brow and tried very hard _not_ to focus on how pretty her mouth looked like that.

 

“You're so strong! You saved me from falling like nothing.” Bull looked at her incredulously. Did she really just say that? Dorian burst into laughter. Liahra's eyes gaze traveled over him again, seeming to just remember his bulk in her haze of inebriation before her eyes quickly dipped to the floor. Her face flushed crimson, expression betraying just how much she wished she hadn't let that comment slip.

 

“She's so drunk, she's lost her memory and her eyesight. Andraste preserve me, this is too much.” Liahra pursed her lips, trying, and utterly failing, to pin Dorian with a stern look. He laughed harder as they left the tavern, holding her steady between them. Her steps were shaky, and Bull felt her slight weight on his arm tug every so often as she tried to keep herself from stumbling again.

 

“Hold on, hold on, hold on.” She said as they reached the bottom of the courtyard stairs. She pulled her arms from theirs and plopped down on the first step, swaying perilously before leaning back and looking up.

 

“No, you can't sleep here.” Dorian said quickly, moving to pull her back up. She waved him off, her eyes still on the sky.

 

“I'm not shleeping. I just miss laying under the stars.” She smiled fondly as she stared, and Bull couldn't help but grin. Dorian huffed.

 

“Well that's all fine and well, but not this drunk in the middle of Skyhold. On the stairs, no less.” Liahra waved at him dismissively again.

 

“You sound like an overbearing hahren.” She giggled. “Liahra, don't do that. No, Liahra, you cannot go frolicking. No fun allowed, Liahra.” She imitated Dorian's voice very badly, and it was evident on his face how hard he was trying to refrain from laughing.

 

“Let someone take care of you for once, won't you?” Dorian said instead. She snorted.

 

“We'll just have to carry you inside if you don't get up.” Bull's voice rumbled.

 

“Ha!” She barked. “I dare you.” She stuck her tongue out at them, crossing her arms. Dorian chuckled and pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

“Such a handful, love. You're lucky we like you so much.”

 

“I'm endearing.” She said simply, tilting her head to the side on the stairs as she grinned.

 

Dorian laughed at that, Bull chuckling and shaking his head. “Quite so, pet. Quite so.” Dorian gestured vaguely in Bull's direction, and he stepped forward, towering over her, hands on his hips.

 

“Hey!” She squeaked.

 

“Ready to go, boss?” He asked, unable to wipe the amusement from his features. She shook her head vehemently.

 

“Now move your fat head, I can't see the sky.” Dorian had a coughing fit behind him, and Bull raised his brow, fighting the smirk that tugged at his mouth.

 

“All right.” He said nonchalantly and pulled back just enough to make her think he was withdrawing before surging forward and heaving her up onto his shoulder. He tried not to smile too smugly at her squeal of surprise, securing her in place with an arm wrapped around the back of her thighs.

 

“W-what?!” She squirmed wildly against him, pushing herself away from his back with her hands. He held her firm and she huffed in annoyance.

 

“I believe your words were, 'I dare you.' No?” Dorian asked, chuckling softly at the way her mouth opened and closed repeatedly as she tried to find a retort. She finally grumbled something unintelligible and sagged against Bull's back in resignation.

 

They climbed the stairs, all of them falling into a companionable silence. She shifted occasionally, testing his hold on her legs, and he flexed in response, caging her more effectively. She huffed again.

 

“Bull,” She whined, and he cleared his throat involuntarily at the sound. Dorian shot him a knowing look, that stupid, smug smile on his face again. “Bull.” She whined again, drawing it out this time. He swallowed. Damn this woman.

 

“Not gonna happen, boss.”

 

She let out a sound of exaggerated anguish, sagging against him dramatically.

 

“No amount of theatrics is gonna help your case.” He chuckled, popping his shoulder up so she bounced. Her squeak of surprised indignation sent him and Dorian into laughter again.

 

Silence fell over them as they entered the great hall, aware of how any sound echoed over half the keep. Liahra didn't care what anyone thought of her, one of her most endearing qualities, but the sight of the qunari mercenary and Tevinter mage sneaking into her quarters with her thrown over his shoulder the way she was would raise too many questions that he didn't want her to have to answer. There were rumors enough without her having to be confronted with them and come up with an explanation.

 

Dorian stepped in front of them to open the door by the dais. Bull lowered his head enough to be sure his horns wouldn't catch and stepped through, Dorian following close behind and shutting it with a soft 'click'. Liahra let out a whoosh of breath as if she had been holding it.

 

“You have a very nice ass, Bull.” She said suddenly, and he stopped short. Dorian snickered and made a show of looking for himself. “Well, I've only been staring at it for the last five minutes as we've been walking. It's kind of right in my line of sight.” She said very quickly, jumping to her own defense. He knew she was blushing.

 

“Thanks, boss.” He laughed, shaking off her attempts to push herself up. Her hands on his skin were distracting. “By all means, keep admiring.” He kept his own silent admiration of her rear to himself.

 

“N-no! I- that is to say I wasn-.” She stammered.

 

“Admiring his assets?” Dorian helpfully supplied. “I know I was.” He said cheekily. She buried her face in his back and groaned.

 

“Oh, love, your face is so pretty when it's that color. We should embarrass you more often.” Dorian easily sidestepped her swinging arm. “Such violence!” He tsked, “So unbecoming of one in your station.”

 

“You're an ass.” She huffed, squirming as they passed through the doorway to her quarters. “You are too.” She said into Bull's back as he again refused to relent his grip.

 

“Yep.” He said simply, taking the stairs two at a time. It was warm, despite the open balcony doors and the winter air. There was a roaring fire in the hearth, setting the room aglow with cozy light. Bull stopped short of the bed, ready to put her down.

 

“Hold a moment, Bull.” Dorian said, and he turned his head to look over his free shoulder in confusion. “She has this darling Dalish tradition, see. And I want my kiss goodnight before she's free and too cross to give me one.”

 

“A do what now?” Bull asked incredulously.

 

“She said her clan has this tradition where they all kiss each other goodnight. Chases the bad dreams away or some such. I saw her do it with Aluriel and Venalya and asked about it.” Dorian explained casually. Liahra snorted.

 

“You asked if I was intimate with them, and if the wild Dalish tales were true. I corrected you.” She said matter-of-factly.

 

“Either way, give us a kiss, love.” Dorian said and took a step towards them. Liahra started squirming in earnest.

 

“No!” She squeaked, trying and failing to fight back giggles. “You deserve bad dreams for making Bull carry me like a sack of potatoes.” Bull let out a loud bark of laughter.

 

“And I will kindly ask him to continue to do so if I don't get my kiss, pet.” Dorian retorted playfully. There was another squirm, and then a resigned huff followed by a quick smack of lips.

 

“There. Now put me down.” She demanded. Dorian chuckled and breezed past them to her closet. Bull popped his shoulder again, smiling at her squeal. She beat at his back playfully for a moment before it clicked.

 

“Oh.” She said. “Please put me down?” She tried again, as sweetly as she could manage. She was a quick learner. That was interes...

 

 _No._ He chastised himself.

 

“Much better.” Bull rumbled as he set her on her feet. He grabbed her shoulders as she swayed. She shook her head slightly, disoriented, then beamed up at him.

 

“Your turn!” She blurted, and he raised a brow as she made grabby hands at his face. He leaned forward, watching her with amused curiosity. She grabbed his horns and yanked, catching him off guard long enough for her to plant a sloppy kiss on his lips. Then she pulled away just as suddenly, smiling gleefully. “Now you won't have bad dreams either.” She giggled and released his horns, jumping on the furs that covered her bed.

 

“It works, oddly enough.” Dorian's voice came from the closet. “Where in the void are your damned night clothes, woman?” He demanded an instant later, and she dissolved into a fit of laughter.

 

“They're in there. Not my fault you can't see.” An indignant noise was her only response. Bull shook his head and turned to leave.

 

“Bull.” She said, her voice suddenly soft and shy. He turned back, and she gestured for him to come closer, jerking her head toward the closet. He obliged and moved to the edge of the bed where she perched herself. She looked up at him, her eyes mesmerizing and full of concern. “How are you?” She asked softly, the question vague but he knew her meaning. He smiled fondly and ruffled her hair.

 

“Tonight helped a lot. More than I can say.” He replied, heart stuttering at the way her expression melted into relief that she had been able to help. “Thank you.” He said, and she beamed.

 

She was so soft and innocent sometimes that it made him ache. It wasn't fair that she never got the chance to be so when she was young, and had no place to release it now that she was grown. It was the same way with her grief and stresses. She kept everything locked tightly inside, never acknowledging her own hurts but trying to heal everybody else's.

 

He appreciated Dorian for how he made sure to take care of her. Creators knew she wasn't going to look after herself.

 

He knew why.

 

She didn't see herself as worthy of being taken care of. She let imagined failures hang over her head, making herself believe she was burdensome. It made him angry... angry at the world for trying to snuff out a light that burned brighter than any he had ever seen. Angry that she felt she was unworthy of devotion and protection. Angry that she felt her troubles should be hers alone. She was so open, and yet shut so tight that no one could reach her. He desperately wanted to chase that darkness away and protect her from the demons inside her mind.

 

She was chewing on her lip as she looked up at him, and he guessed her intent only a moment before she followed through, distracted as he was. She pushed herself up and took his face in her hands, pressing her lips to his in a kiss _vastly_ different from the chaste, playful one a minute before. Her lips were soft, pliant, and tasted like peaches and spiced wine. She ran her tongue along his bottom lip, a hand drifting from his face to his shoulder.

 

A hand came up to fist in her hair, and he took advantage of her gasp of surprise to delve between her lips. His self-control was hanging by a thread, the drink and her sweet, heady taste threatening to unravel him. He _wanted_ her with an intensity that was unnerving, like he might starve if he could not have her. She pressed closer against him, a small, needy sound swallowed by their searing kiss.

 

 _Wrong._ His mind screamed at him, and he was perfectly content to go tell that voice to fuck itself, but it was right. He used every shred of his willpower to pull away, ignoring the other voices calling him a number of foul names. She withdrew immediately, muttering soft apologies. His hand drifted down to her shoulder, the other coming up to capture her chin and turn her to look at him.

 

“Don't apologize. I was in the wrong.” He murmured, his gaze inadvertently drawn back to her lips. He closed his eye and swallowed before continuing. “I don't want to take advantage.”

 

“It's not taking advantage if I want it.” She quipped, and he had to silence the voices that said she was right.

 

“It is when you are drunk.” His tone left no room for argument, and she began chewing on her lip again. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her hairline before withdrawing completely. He stepped back toward the stairs. “If you still want it when you're sober, then we can have a discussion.” He rumbled quietly.

 

He stood in the hall outside her door for a moment before heading back to the tavern and his cold room in the tower above.

 

_Well... fuck. Guess I'm done fighting it._

 

It was the first night in years that the nightmares didn't plague him.

 

 

The first thing Liahra was aware of the next morning was the relentless pounding in her head. She reached up to clutch at it desperately, a piteous groan drawn from her lips. She heard a shuffle of movement and the sound of liquid being poured.

 

“Good morning, sunshine.” Dorian's chipper voice shot through her skull like an arrow. She groaned again and weakly waved a hand in his general direction. “Oh, I'm sorry... does your head hurt?” He had raised his voice, punctuating each syllable, and she resisted the urge to open her eyes and hit him.

 

She rolled over instead and pulled the pillow tightly around her. “You are such an ass.” She shot back, reply heavily muffled. “ _Fenedhis_.” She hissed, “Why does it hurt so much?” Dorian's soft chuckle grated on her nerves.

 

“So, I take it you don't drink much then?” He asked casually, the sound of a metal spoon scraping against porcelain in the background.

 

“No.” She groaned. “The last time I drank this much was the night before I left for the Conclave. I usually only have two, maximum.” She tightened the pillow against the assault of his laughter.

 

“Well you more than exceeded that number last night, pet. Sit up. I have something that will help.”

 

She muttered something unintelligible and burrowed further into her blankets and furs, pulling the pillow with her. She squirmed as invading fingers began prodding at the lump of comfort and darkness and silence and her, curled up in the middle. She swatted weakly at the offending digits, realizing too late the opportunity she presented as she was unceremoniously pulled from her nest by her wrist.

 

“Dorian.” She wailed, trying desperately to cover her face against the onslaught of harsh morning light. When he didn't respond, she hesitantly cracked an eye open, hissing at the sharp stab of pain that lanced her skull. She opened the other one, blinking blearily as his smiling face came into focus. He held up a porcelain teacup, steam rising from the contents. She took it from him, eyeing him warily as he fetched his own from the side table by her couch. There was an open book on the arm that he returned to.

 

“Drink.” He said, settling into the cushions and plucking the book from its resting place. She sipped the concoction hesitantly, immediately making a face at how bitter the contents were. She forced herself to sip again.

 

“Dorian.” She said after a few minutes, her 'tea' or whatever it was now more than half gone. He looked up from his book, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “How much of a fool was I last night?” He looked amused.

 

“You don't remember?” He asked, that damnable smirk increasing.

 

“I remember every minute. I just need to know that I made all of it up in my sleep, or something.” His laugh was the only answer she needed, face blanching as she fell back with an anguished moan, bringing her hands to cover her burning face. “Oh no.” She mumbled into her hands. She felt the bed shift and Dorian's hand was patting her shoulder.

 

“It wasn't that bad.” He chuckled, and she parted her fingers to shoot him a dirty look.

 

“Dorian.” She let her hands fall to her sides. “I climbed him like a tree.” She groaned again and rolled onto her belly, burying her face while Dorian struggled to reign in his sudden hysterical fit.

 

“That you did, love.”

 

“Why didn't you stop me?” She wailed into the blankets.

 

“Because, you deserve to cut loose and have some fun. You don't get nearly enough of it.” His hand was absently rubbing her back in soothing circles now. “Besides, it was too funny to watch. Bull certainly had no complaints.” She heard the suggestion in his tone and gasped as her head flew up, eyes blown wide at the memory that came bursting forth.

 

“Dorian, I kissed him!” She hissed, her face falling in horror. Dorian feigned shock, hand flying to his chest. She narrowed her eyes. “You knew.” She jabbed him with an accusatory finger. He rolled his eyes and reached for his cup on her bedside table.

 

“Are we teenagers again, discussing the horrors of acting on attraction? Yes, I knew. You don't honestly think it would take me so long to find you some sleeping attire in your abysmal wardrobe, do you? Please.” He sniffed as if the very idea offended him and sipped his tea, her eyes wide and mouth slack as she stared at him in astonishment. “And from the looks of things, he kissed you back. Thoroughly.” He said smugly, grinning wolfishly as he took another drink.

 

“I hate you.” She said finally, scowling at his chuckle.

 

“As I said, you deserve to cut loose and have fun. Goodness knows you two have been dancing around each other long enough. It's about time there was some progress, I say.” He kissed the top of her head. “You're welcome.” He tossed back at her as he rose and went back to his book.

 

“I hate you.” She said again, but she couldn't fight the smile that pulled at her lips. Stupid, clever man.

 

He looked at her above the top of his book. “Love you too, pet. Now get dressed. Josephine informed me that there are four foreign dignitaries for you to meet, a War Council meeting after lunch, and your sparring session with the Iron Bull before supper. That last one should prove... interesting.” He laughed and ducked, narrowly avoiding the pillow she threw at him.

 


	24. DWC: People are Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brand new Roman AU- Sera and Dagna

“But, Sera-”

 

“Oi, Widdle. Part of the deal was you had to be hush, yeah? At least 'till we get out of your master's territory.” She was on edge. It was _way_ too fuckin' quiet and that usually spelled trouble in all sorts of ways- especially when on the run. She had taken a _huge_ risk in freeing this one, but she had _grown_ on her, damn it. Sera was many things, but she was no fool. She knew the dwarf's master would miss her immensely, what with all the fancy magic crafting shite she put together. Dagna was too clever for her own good.

 

“But if we only need to step outside of Tevene territory, then why south? Antiva to the east is much closer- and a safer journey I would think.” Dagna whispered, pulling up close beside the elf. Sera gave her an exasperated look and pressed a finger to her lips. She peered through the bushes at the darkened road, the unsettled feeling in her gut growing in intensity. She scanned the shadows, drawing her bow and nocking an arrow as quietly as she could manage. Something was off. Very off. Dagna watched her with wide eyes, but fell blissfully silent.

 

Sera couldn't see _shite_ and it just made the hair on her neck prickle. She didn't like this. There was _nothing_ out there and that was precisely the problem. They were on the outskirts of a small town- there should be stray dogs, rats, a stumbling drunkard or two- at least some friggin' _bugs_. But the area was completely devoid of life, and it scared her way more than she'd ever admit to her Widdle.

 

She let an arrow fly, intentionally grazing the edge of one of the houses so it would skitter over the cobblestones. It was nearly deafening in the deadly silence, and yet still nothing stirred. Sera closed her eyes and clenched her jaw. She was fairly sure of what she would find, but the knowledge never made it any easier. She had come across nearly eight other villages just like this- a village of little people crushed under boot when they refused to submit. It was why she fought as hard as she did. It was why she sought to crush the Imperium as they had crushed so many others.

 

“Won't be pretty. You should know now.” She said to the dwarf, voice hoarse with pent emotion. She stood, leaving the cover of the bushes and keeping a tight grip on her bow. She could hear the shuffling steps behind her, nervous and hesitant, but she kept her eyes fixed forward, stopping for a moment only when she saw the first sign of what she had dreaded. She stepped forward until the entire street was in view, and closed her eyes.

 

The first body was just a boy. Maybe 9- covered in blood and dust and grime, face down on the cobblestones. There were at least 20 more lining the narrow street, and she knew she would find even more hidden in the buildings. There was a shuddering gasp from behind her.

 

“What is wrong with the world?” Dagna's voice came, small and soft and afraid, her shackles rattling as she lifted her hands to cover her mouth.

 

“Ain't nothing wrong with the world, Widdle. S'the people that are shite.” Sera spat into the dirt, trying to harden herself against the sights as she had with the villages before. “You should sleep.”

 

When Dagna rose the next morning, it was to find dozens of fresh mounds in the field just outside of the village. Sera stood tall, arms crossed as she looked at the rising dawn, face schooled into a careful mask of impassivity.

 

“What's the plan?” Dagna asked gently, avoiding the sight of the fresh graves. She could have been one of them, had her life gone differently.

 

“Arlathan.”

 

“The Elvhen city?” She asked incredulously. Tevinter was trying to focus _all_ of its efforts on Arlathan- it seemed like the last place that would be a haven for an escaped slave and a vigilante.

 

“Got friends there.” Sera said casually.

 

“Red Jenny friends?”

 

“Nah, bigger friends. It's time to start the fight for real, Widdle. They want the same things as me- as many of us. The Empire needs to fall.”

 

Confusion knotted Dagna's brow. “Who-”

 

“Ever heard of Fen'Harel and the Herald of Andraste?” Sera asked, turning upon her with a wicked smirk.

 


	25. DWC: Wine Soaked Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brand new Roman AU- Liahra and Ellania have too much to drink.

“Aren't they _handsome_?” Ellania's breath was hot on her ear, voice dipping into a low purr. Her fingers were trailing idly over Liahra's heated flesh, both of them loose and flushed from the spiced wine they had been steadily plied with all evening. Their cups had never been empty- a testament to the quality of the slaves of House Mahariel, recently come into their fortune through the games.

 

She could practically feel Ellania's feral grin from behind her on the chaise as she admired her stock- the finest gladiators in the South, oiled and standing at attention for the viewing pleasure of all of her guests for the evening. Liahra averted her gaze... again... the heat rising steadily in her cheeks. Ellania was getting handsy, as she was wont to do when drunk, but Liahra couldn't quite bring herself to mind it, the wine and... scenery dulling her judgment. She could feel more than see Krem's disapproving brow from where he stood beside the chaise, ever vigilant.

 

“I hate the games.” Liahra said at last, letting her gaze rove over the crowd instead of Ellania's prized _décor_. Her friend laughed, high and bright and _thoroughly_ amused, a hint of disbelief amidst the melody.

 

“You can hate the games and still appreciate the players, pet. How could you not when they are so-” She hummed, the feral smile taking over her face again as she let her eyes caress their forms. “ _Look_ at them, Liahra. They are div-” Ellania squealed suddenly, clapping her hands in excitement. Her eyes were shining with mirth, something more heated glinting beneath. “They finally finished preparing my newest addition.” She said, slightly breathless. Liahra reluctantly turned her gaze back to the line of gladiators, then stopped short, the air stolen from her lungs.

 

It was _him_.

 

She took a large drink, unable to tear her eyes away. She tried to ignore Ellania's victorious smirk from beside her.

 

“Quite eye-catching, isn't he?” She purred, gaze following Liahra's to settle on him. “The one who saved your Krem in the arena, was he not?”

 

“Yes.” She breathed the word. How many years had it been since that day? Three?

 

“Have you ever fucked a gladiator?” Ellania asked suddenly. Krem choked on his water, spluttering and coughing as Liahra's face flushed crimson. She turned on her friend with wide eyes.

 

“Ellania!” She hissed, unable to meet her gaze.

 

“Oh please. Don't start acting like the blushing virgin.” She laughed, lifting Liahra's chin with gentle fingers. “You forget I know you better than that.” She murmured, leaning in close. Liahra could feel the heat rise further in her cheeks. Ellania stopped just short of her lips, barely a breath apart before she pulled back just as suddenly. Liahra had to struggle to find her breath, her head swimming. Ellania laughed again. “Wine turns you shy- who would have thought?”

 

“Just as it turns you to a harlot.” Liahra shot back, crumpling into laughter at the look of shocked amusement on her friend's face.

 

“There she is! Gracious, I thought I had lost you to the drink.” They fell into a fit of helpless giggles, their mirth so infectious that even Krem had begun to laugh at their expense. “Come, come. Now that they have all been presented, I would introduce them to you personally.” Ellania rose from the chaise, cup in hand, the other tugging at Liahra's free one.

 

“You- what?” Liahra managed through the haze of inebriation. She followed obediently, eyes widening as she realized the destination of the path they were on. She took another large drink, praying the wine would soothe her suddenly frayed nerves. She had only seen him the once in the arena, not even near to him, and yet her thoughts had been consumed by him ever since.

 

_For three years._

 

Foolish girl.

 

They were halfway down the line of gladiators now, and Liahra had not heard a word of any of the introductions. Her mind was consumed by the one at the far end, and she cursed herself for her impropriety. What would her uncle think? She took another drink, embracing the burn in her throat.

 

“Liahra, are you even listening?” The accusation startled her from her reveries, and she looked up into the bemused face of Ellania, brow quirked.

 

“Apologies. My mind was otherwise occupied.”

 

“With terrible things, I hope.” Ellania said saucily, grinning at the dry look she received.

 

“With the journey home. My uncle has taken ill, and I never intended to tarry this long. I should be going.” She said in way of an excuse, though not false. Ellania pulled a face.

 

“I shall see to the horse and cart, mistress.” Krem said gently, the relief at escaping the party evident in his voice. She smiled and inclined her head in dismissal.

 

“Thank you, Krem.”

 

Ellania watched his retreating back with narrowed eyes before her gaze flicked back to Liahra. A brilliant smile graced her lips. “Well you simply _must_ meet the new addition to our gladiators before you go.” Liahra pinned her with a stern look, very much doubting her ability to maintain composure while so inebriated. But there was mischief in Ellania's eyes, and Liahra knew she would not be swayed. She very nearly dragged Liahra over to him. “Lady Liahra Lavellan, may I introduce our newest prize fighter- The Iron Bull.”

 

She took a deep breath and gave what she hoped wasn't a forced smile, all thought flown clear from her head. He was massive- towering above her and rippling with thick muscle, silvery skin covered in scars and oil. She swallowed past the lump in her throat, drawing her fan and flicking it open as she forced her gaze past the wall of him to his face. One eye was upon her, stormy green and mysterious, something dark lurking in the depths. The other was covered with a patch made of metal, fitted to the crags of his face.

 

The eye he had lost in defense of Krem, a gladiator too soon seen to the sands, saved by a man who should have killed him. It was the talk of Arlathan for weeks after, the tittering only growing when Liahra had bought the boy, then freed him and hired him as a personal bodyguard instead. The man who had saved his life seemed to have disappeared- until now.

 

He was even more striking up close. Overwhelmingly so. She could feel herself getting uncomfortably warm, waving her fan in a desperate attempt to abate the searing heat that seemed to accompany his presence.

 

“She is lovely, is she not?” Ellania asked sweetly, a smirk upon her lips. Liahra opened her mouth to retort, but promptly closed it at the sound of a voice- low and gravelly- that cut her to her core.

 

“Without equal, to be sure.”

 

She stumbled for thought, for response, chasing the threads of her mind that had fled from wine and heated thoughts.

 

“Already trained so well to respond to questions with idle flattery. Impressive.” She said dismissively, returning her gaze to Ellania with a tight smile. She missed his small smirk. “He seems quite formidable. I commend you on the new addition. May he bring glory to your house.” She said, suddenly wishing she had more wine. Ellania gave her a strange look, but smiled. She made her farewells quickly after that, retreating to the safety of her carriage and the cool night breeze. He had so long been only in her mind, that it was surreal to see him turned flesh and close enough to touch. She tried to clear the images from her thoughts. She could not afford distractions. Her duties were far too important...

 

She was, of course, regaled with stories of the evening days later. Ellania said it was a wine soaked night of revelry and debauchery, that she should have stayed and partaken in the festivities. It was with no small amount of shame that she pictured him first and foremost at the mention.

 

“And how is your betrothed?” Ellania asked over tea. Liahra summoned a tight smile, the weight of her station suddenly crashing back down upon her.

 

“He is well.”

 


	26. DWC: Almost-confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drunk Writing Circle prompt: "Saying I love you while huddled for protection from the storm."  
> Iron Bull x Liahra Lavellan

“Why did you follow me?” She asked, her voice small and broken despite the way it echoed around the walls of the damp cave. A million reasons flashed through his mind all at once- the sparkle in her eyes when she laughed, the quirk of her lips when she was trying not to smile, the way she illuminated a room with her presence- soft and sweet and kind and _strong._ And _oh_ the way she looked out for people, with no regard for herself. She fought, she protected, she hurt for people who never had a kind word to say, and she did it gladly.

 

 _What use is power if I cannot use it to help people?_ She had asked him once, a patient smile on her face but a weariness in her eyes that weighed on her heavily. She had never wanted this.

 

But it was a burden she had borne with grace and humility, determined to rid the world of Corypheus and the threat he posed. Damned if she wouldn't save everyone she could along the way. His gaze met hers over the fire.

 

“Why wouldn't I?” Her gaze flitted downward, and he could see her throat move as she swallowed. She was trying to hide from him- tense and afraid and _nothing_ like she was usually with him. She wanted distance from everyone- from Skyhold, from Inquisitor. Their losses were hitting her with devastating blows, convincing her that she was failing. How could she be proud of their progress when she saw all of the innocents trampled under boot in their wake? He knew it felt as though every decision she made was instead choosing which innocents were to die. She was not the type of woman who could continue making those choices and be okay with the results. She cared too much. She loved too much. She felt their losses as keenly as though they were her clan- that was just _her._ She fought for those who had no voices, recognizing that her position allowed her that luxury.

 

She was shivering, clutching the threadbare blanket around her shoulders with a white-knuckled grip. She was so closed off, directing her frustrations inward and pushing him away. It made his heart ache to see her this way. She had opened to him so much over the last few months, showing him a side that no one else ever got to see.

 

“Kadan.” He said gently, watching her raise her eyes to him hesitantly. He opened his arms- an offer, not a demand- and waited. Her gaze raked over him, raw and vulnerable. _Oh,_ how he wanted to chase the demons from her mind, beat them down and make them pay for the torture they continued to cause. He wanted to protect her from the monsters that tormented her, while knowing he couldn't- just as she couldn't protect him from his. But they could ease the burden- share it, and offer comfort when they grew too loud.

 

She shuffled against the dirt for a moment, flinching as a heavy branch cracked near the entrance of the cave, the wind howling like a broken beast. She watched him for a few minutes more, deliberating, before crawling haphazardly to where he sat. She paused, hand mid-reach, looking at him with an expression he couldn't quite read. He waited still. She placed her hand against his chest, just over his heart, watching him. He smiled tenderly, covering her hand with his.

 

“Why did you stay?” She whispered. He had seen all of her broken pieces, held her through heartache and injury, dealt with her temper and helped to relieve her burdens. He had seen her laid bare beneath his gaze, her mind and heart open to him. She had offered him everything she had to give, and he had treasured it for the gift it was... and yet.

 

Yet here she was, this remarkable woman, asking him why he had stayed through it all. But how could she know? How could she know that every time he thought of her his heart beat just a little bit faster, that her smile, her laughter, her touch scared him because it made him _feel_ and the Qun never allowed this. They never allowed _this_ and _Creators,_ it scared him senseless, because he had given himself just as wholly to her and he didn't know how to handle it. Here they were, two broken people brought together by circumstance, and they had fallen- both terrified. Here she was again, laying her heart bare, asking him _why_. _Why did you stay?_

 

_Because you are my heart, my world. And as much as it scares me, as much as I don't understand it, I love you. If only you knew how I love you._

 

“Why wouldn't I?” He said again, lowering his lips to hers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You may find me at my [tumblr](http://silent-of-spirit.tumblr.com/), where you can also prompt me or strike up a friendly chat :) I love talking to people, don't be shy <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! More prompts always to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You may find me at my [tumblr](http://silent-of-spirit.tumblr.com/), where you can also prompt me or strike up a friendly chat :) I love talking to people, don't be shy <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! More prompts always to come.


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